


Main Story

by Winchester_Chronicles



Series: The Storyteller [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Reality, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Older Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 02:47:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14510853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winchester_Chronicles/pseuds/Winchester_Chronicles
Summary: This is the main storyline for the Storyteller series.This will be continually updated chapter by chapter; however, further installments in the series, seen on this site as 'parts' will be moments that could be considered "out-takes" from the main storyline.Enjoy!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The timeline for this story cuts in directly following the season 10 finale of Supernatural. The Darkness is not God's sister. Don't get me wrong, the official storyline is great, it's just not the way I would have written it; hence...The Storyteller.
> 
> Dean and Sam have just killed Death and the Mark of Cain has been removed from Dean's arm. They return to the Bunker with little to no hope - that's when they discover a file that changes everything. And they thought nothing could surprise them anymore.

The Darkness was closing in. There was no escaping it now that it had been released. Cain’s curse had been broken but this was only the beginning. 

“This place is a wreck,” Dean griped, throwing back another swallow of Malboro. At least those filthy Stynes hadn’t found and dumped his secret stash of ‘provisions’. When he and Sam had stumbled back to the Bunker after getting taken for a ride by that freaky black cloud of Darkness, the place was in shambles. Dean only vaguely remembered ripping the Stynes to shreds and then finding them here burning some of their more valuable resources, trying to slink off with crates of weapons and books. Thankfully, they hadn’t gotten far with their spoils because Dean had been there to stop them, but at what cost? Already, two innocent boys had been slaughtered on the floor at his feet, and that blood was on his hands. 

“At least they knew what was important to keep and not turn to ash. Still, whatever was in these books is lost to us now.” Sam scuffed a booted toe against the floor, trying to get just a bit more of the ashy stains out of the tile. They had salted and burned the bodies they found and salvaged what they could. The bastards had been more out to play a cruel and debilitating joke on the Winchesters rather than dig them a hole in the ground to be buried in. Every item of clothing or anything personal the boys owned was burned. At the thought of the picture of him and his mom lying half charred under his pillow, Dean clenched his jaw and took another swig.

It had been a few weeks and even with Sam on the books practically day and night, they had found hardly a scrap of intel on this “Darkness”. 

Running a hand through his hair, Sam joined Dean at the table and leaned back with his own drink clasped tantalizingly chilled in a fist. “I don’t know man. There doesn’t seem to be anything out there on this ‘Darkness’. It was hard enough to learn the deep dark secrets of the Mark and that took us nowhere good.” Dean blinked himself out of the daze of picturing that poor kid’s body lying in front of him on the floor and started listening to his brother. 

“I was going through the boxes of stuff the Stynes were planning on hauling and found a couple interesting files. Might be worth looking into.” He produced a box that had some scattered files in it from under the table and picked out one in particular that had caught his eye. I mean, with the pictures of whatever data the Men of Letters had been collecting, how could he not take a second glance? The girl was beautiful. 

“The Archives? I wonder if that’s another Men of Letters hideout. But what does it have to do with this girl?” Sam rolled his eyes when he saw the pictures. “Story-teller? Sounds like some sort of fairy-tale crap like the land of Oz was.”

“But read here. It says she knew all and saw all. Never aged and they couldn’t figure out why. Apparently, they held this chick here for generations and she never changed. So in theory, she would be as much of a babe now as she was in 1945.” 

“Dean, eyes up,” Sam chastised jokingly, pulling the file back so his brother wasn’t staring at it like a porno anymore. Turning a page, Sam’s brows came together in confusion and he leaned his elbows on the table, scanning the pages furiously. “She’d apparently taken more than a sip at the fountain of youth Dean. It says here they even tried to kill her, but she wouldn’t starve, she wouldn’t bleed out if she was stabbed; hell, they must’ve tried everything trying to kill this…whatever she was, and she just wouldn’t kick the bucket.” 

“Not a demon, not an angel, not anything they could figure out. But look towards the end,” Dean suggested, knowing Sam would be enraptured by the mystery. This challenge was just the sort of thing to get their minds off their present predicament. Sam flipped to the end, and then back a page, and then to the back again. 

“There’s nothing. It just ends.”

“Exactly. Their records were regular, planned, specific. Why would they just stop in the middle of this investigation? It doesn’t say if they eventually killed her, or…”

“Maybe she got away?” Sam wondered. 

“Bingo. What if this chick’s still kicking out there somewhere?” Draining his bottle, Dean leaned over the table and plucked one of the headshots of the girl from the file. It was brown and aged around the edges, the image itself a faded version of its former glory, but it would do. 

“You want to find her?”

“Sam, if she’s some kind of ‘story-keeper’ - whatever, she probably knows something about this Darkness thing coming. It couldn’t hurt to do a little digging. We’ve tried a million different angles with this thing and we’ve come up dry. Maybe this is our one in a million.” 

“Well if we’re headed into battle, we better call in the cavalry.” Sam cocked an eyebrow at his brother as he took the two bottles between his fingers. 

“Sam, I’m not callin’ Cas.” Dean shoved away from the table with his ‘end of discussion’ face on. 

“Come on man. You know you two need to sort this out. It wasn’t your fault Dean! It was the Mark! Cas will understand. Heck, I bet he’ll even forgive you without a second thought, or he already has.” 

“I said no, alright Sam?” Dean’s fists clenched as he fought off his all too eager rage and let his hands fall limp at his sides. He was tired of the brutality. Wanted nothing more to do with it. Especially considering how close he had actually come to killing his brother only a few weeks ago. He still couldn’t forgive himself for even entertaining the consideration of taking that scythe to anyone other than Death himself. 

“Dean.” One word uttered by a particularly familiar voice froze Dean in his tracks on his way to his room to sulk. Sure enough, as he turned around, Castiel was there in the flesh, bearing no signs of the brutality Dean had subjected him to not long ago. 

Neither of them said anything as they stood there and Sam carefully watched for any kind of tell for what was going to happen between his two brothers. They were always fairly unpredictable but pitted against one another…

They were about ten yards apart when suddenly Cas was three feet in front of Dean with his elbow cocked for a right hook. The latter didn’t even flinch but stared straight ahead until the punch connected with a resounding crack that threw Dean back into a doorframe. He rubbed his jaw with his brow creased and with something like surprise in his eyes. 

Neither of the Winchesters had ever seen Castiel throw such a mean punch. 

“Hey Cas, I – ” In another blindingly fast movement, Cas wrapped his arms around Dean and pulled him into a fierce hug. They stood this way, Dean awkwardly flailing for a moment before returning the brotherly embrace. The childish angel’s actions spoke louder than words and told more volumes of the pair’s relationship than had been so recently turned to ash. When they parted, Castiel put a hand on Dean’s shoulder as his brother did the same. 

“All is forgiven Dean. You are healed and so am I. All is well.”

“Hate to put a damper on the bro-fest, but all isn’t really well Cas. We got the Mark off Dean, but it turns out there was a catch,” Sam interrupted awkwardly, setting aside the bottles that were suddenly so mundane. 

“When is there not with you two?” Cas joked mildly, flexing the hand he had used on Dean’s jaw. “What is the battle we fight today?”

“Well apparently, the Mark wasn’t just some old curse. It was a key that held some kind of ‘Darkness’ at bay. After the Mark was broken, this Darkness was released.” Castiel’s face had gone ashen, even more pale than he normally was. 

“How do you know this?” 

“It kind of attacked us outside the bar where we killed Death…” 

“Death can’t be killed so that wouldn’t have brought about any kind of horrific plague but - ” Castiel mused but Dean cut him off. 

“Cas, I stuck Death through with his own scythe. The guy’s dead as a doornail.” Castiel looked about ready to pass out.

“And the Darkness, who told you about this?” 

“The deceased himself. Spilled the beans, and he was going to throw me on some planet out there or something to keep the Mark from being broken. Apparently even he was freaked by whatever this Darkness is.”

“But we can’t find anything else on whatever it is,” Sam grumbled. They had all taken seats at the table and Sam gestured to the stacks lying in heaps around the room. 

“I can’t imagine you would. Even I don’t know much about the Darkness, only that God was the only one to have faced it. And that was before He even began to form the Earth as you know it.” The angel sat rigid as usual with his brow creased in concentration. He still hadn’t regained the color in his face. 

“The only lead we can find is her.” Dean tossed the picture across the table, watching for Cas’ reaction, but he looked more confused than before if anything. 

“Who is this?”

“We don’t know. But the Men of Letters had a file on her that the Stynes were trying to get a hold of. It didn’t have a name, only a title: ‘Story-teller’.”

“That…that title is familiar…” Cas wondered, tilting his head curiously while gazing at the woman in the faded image. “You want to find her, and ask about the Darkness? What makes you think she knows anything?”

“Because apparently she’s been around quite a while. As in, generations of the Men of Letters held her in this exact bunker and she never aged a day.” Dean was leaning forward now as the intensity of the situation boggled the angel’s mind.

“And as far as they were able to test, nothing could kill her.” Sam opened the file on the table and pushed it towards Cas who scanned it quickly. 

“This is troubling. Could it be some monster they had yet to face but that you two have encountered since then? Much has happened since the original Men of Letters last collaborated.” 

“You mean like the Apocalypse and the angels falling and Metatron and the Mark and every other shithole we’ve been dropped down? Yeah, I’d say we experienced a lot, but they freaking went to the Land of Oz. I’d say they had their fair share of crazy,” Dean scoffed, sitting back in his chair and unconsciously rubbing his arm where the Mark of Cain had so recently been removed. “Even so, we should find whoever or whatever this chick is and ask her a few questions. Somethin’ this freaky should be checked out anyway right?” 

“Maybe you’re right Dean, but where would we even start?” Sam wondered, doing his best not to reveal the worry still unsettling him whenever it looked like his brother was remembering the Curse or any number of the horrors they had gone through in the past ten years. 

“What about this?” Castiel pointed out a name in the file that was the most repeated. “Theodore Bowen. The name occurs in several places and seems to be called here,” he indicated a section in one of the last entries. “It says that he was the guard of the girl’s cell.” 

“Wait I remember something about a Bowen. Wasn’t he killed by Abaddon during that crazy time with Grandpa Henry?” Dean snapped his fingers in concentration. 

“Well that’s a dead end I guess. Did he have any family? Any kids that he might have passed the mantle onto?” Sam queried. 

“Let me check on it and I’ll let you know,” Castiel announced and was gone in one of those blindingly fast flashes. Dean always wondered if his wings must be ripped or something. 

“While he’s doing that, let see what more we can get out of the files here.” For hours, Dean and Sam sifted through old case files, journals, and kill records. They pulled up completely empty. Only the one file mentioned anything about the Storyteller that they could find. 

“Well I’m about ready to hit the sack. How ‘bout you?” Dean rolled his shoulders and felt a satisfying stretch in his tense muscles. 

“Guess we won’t know anything ‘til Cas gets back,” Sam mused with a yawn. 

Dean lay awake for hours that night; his much too recent past haunting him every time he closed his eyes. There were so many people who had died because of him and far too few who had survived an encounter of the supernatural kind. Still, every time he felt the darkness of his soul closing in, he remembered Sam down on his knees completely resigned to whatever fate dealt him as Dean himself held the scythe of Death over his head. Cain had been the one in particular that foreshadowed the murder of his brother from none other than his own hand, but he had proved them wrong. Dean chose family over the world yet again, but what would be the cost he had to pay this time? 

Dean had just begun to doze when he realized he wasn’t alone in the room. With his eyes still only barely cracked, he reached for the Bowie under his pillow. 

“Dean. I found him.” Castiel was suddenly standing right beside the bed in all his angelic ninja glory. The hunter’s eyes shot open and he sat up on an elbow, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“Geez Cas! It’s the middle of the night! You can’t keep doing that man,” Dean growled as he threw off his blanket and went to his bureau to get dressed. An hour or so was good enough to keep him going a while anyways. 

“This is an urgent matter and must be handled with all haste. We need to know what this Darkness is and – ” 

“Just go wake up Sam. Tell him to meet me in the garage.” The eldest Winchester didn’t even flinch at the breeze that tousled his sandy brown hair; instead, he listened carefully for a moment before hearing a thud from the only other occupied bedroom in the Bunker. 

“Cas! What the hell?!” The curse was muffled through the cinderblock walls but it still brought a crooked smile to Dean’s face. Within minutes he had packed a bag of essentials and loaded ammo for any kind of monster. He made a stop in the kitchen to whip up a couple sandwiches for the drive and, having stuffed those in a paper bag, headed for the garage. As the fluorescents kicked on one by one, he paced the line of machines until he came to his baby. She could use a fresh coat of wax. 

“I’ll take care of you when we get back, Baby,” he crooned, throwing his bag in the trunk and selecting the keys from the wall. 

“What’s going on Dean?” Sam was usually the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed one in the morning. Given, it was only about 3 am but still...He didn’t look all that thrilled but Cas, who was right behind him, had a determined glint in his eyes. 

“Toss your stuff in the back. Cas will fill us in on the way. By the way, where to trench coat?” 

“Hoover, South Dakota.” 

“Better get goin’ then.” Dean slid into the driver’s seat with Sammy riding shotgun and Cas in the back, not wearing his seatbelt as usual. As he turned the key and heard Baby’s engine rumble to life, Dean felt a moment, a fleeting moment mind you but a moment all the same of rightness. This was where everyone he cared about belonged. 

“What are we headed for Cas?” Dean sparked up the inevitable conversation as they pulled out of the hidden garage tunnel from the Bunker. Better to get it out in the open now so they could plan, while they were all still awake. 

“Ted Bowen had a son, illegitimate but blood nevertheless. His name is Wesley Bowen. From what I could understand of the family heritage, they were endowed with the duty of guarding this ‘Storyteller’. But the tradition goes farther back than the father. Even the grandfather and his father before him guarded this creature. The son had been a transient most of his life, left a mentally unstable mother at home around the age of 16. The mother has since killed herself. I found the boy by using a blood trace from the father, don’t ask,” Castiel rolled his eyes when Dean opened his mouth. There was probably something complicated about getting the father’s blood that the angel didn’t want them to know, so Dean let it drop; for now. 

“Anyway, he’s been living in this particular town for almost a year; already quite considerably longer than anywhere else.”

“Do you think he might be a hunter who hung up the belt?” Sam rubbed his eyes, blinking widely and trying to focus. 

“It’s possible, but I couldn’t find out for sure. He was hard enough to track down, let alone divine his entire life story.”

“Alright you two. What else can you tell us Cas?” Dean butted in before the grumpy kids could really start going at it. 

“He’s married.” There was a pause of silence in the car that hovered over the edge of something before crashing with the sound of Castiel’s sigh. “That’s all.”

“Well, looks like we’re flying by the seat of our pants for this one. Get some rest Sammy. It’s a long drive.” Dean nudged his kid brother’s shoulder as he tried in vain to stifle another yawn. 

“Wake me up when it’s my turn to drive.” About ten hours later, the glossy black Impala rolled into the lot of a motel called the Kirby Inn. 

“Cas, can you check out Wesley, tail him for a bit. We’ll set up camp here and follow you pretty quick,” Dean whispered and the angel left in a gust of wind. The breeze woke Sam who rubbed the sleep from his eyes and froze. 

“Dean, where are we?” The elder brother didn’t answer as he swung open the door and stretched his stiff legs. “Are we already in South Dakota?” 

“Dude, we’ve gotta break you of that snoring habit. And what is a grasshopper sock by the way?” Sam followed Dean to the back of the car and grabbed his bag, slamming the trunk closed. 

“How about you go get lunch and we’ll call it even?” Rolling his eyes, Sam tossed his bag at Dean who caught it and set about getting a room. By the time Sam returned, he had checked and cleaned his .45 Colt as well as lined up a decent array of possible elements the female might be weakened by. They unfortunately had to go by trial and error with this one. But they had to find her first, and their only lead was this Bowen. Sam eyed the arsenal and glanced at his brother’s stupid, satisfied grin before handing him a bag. 

“They had pecan? This time of year? Jackpot!” Dean’s grin widened as he tore open the pie first and munched it like a piece of pizza. The pure bliss on his face spoke volumes and Sam shook his head. 

“You and your pie,” he chuckled, pulling out a grilled-chicken wrap of his own. 

“Learn by example Sammy. Eat some pie and you’ll grow up big and strong like me!” The two shared the meager lunch before Sam wiped his face and tossed his garbage into the  
bin for a nice off the rim shot. 

With a competitive grumble, Dean wadded up his bag and lobbed it, swishing the plastic bag with a satisfying thunk at the bottom. Holding up both hands in victory, Dean scoffed at Sam who just shook his head. 

“We should probably get on over to the Bowen place; have a little chat with Mr. Wesley,” Dean suggested, rolling his shoulders in anticipation. As the pair drove up to the small suburban home, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. 

“What do we do? Just go up there and knock on the door? Say ‘hey, we’re hunters and we’d like to talk to you about a girl your family is supposedly keeping captive’?” 

“That might not be the smartest plan you’ve ever come up with,” Castiel’s voice suddenly coming from the back of the car startled both boys. Why it still made the hair on the back of Dean’s neck stand up he would never know. Shouldn’t they have gotten used to his antics by now? 

“And what would you suggest?” Dean queried, craning his neck to scope out the general layout of the house. It was an unassuming single-story with white siding, an attached garage, and a shed it looked like in the back. 

“Straight-forward but subtle. Don’t say hunters, tell him you’re from the Men of Letters. If his father did pass on any superstitions from his past, the hunters were brainless pawns in his day.” 

“Gee Cas, thanks,” Sam harrumphed good-naturedly. 

“Here goes nothing I guess. Cas, why don’t you stay in the car? Best not to reveal our ace in the whole right at the start.” With a nod, Castiel sat back as Dean and Sam swung open the doors and approached the house, no disguises on, just themselves. This was risky. Dean cracked his knuckles, taking a deep breath, and knocked. 

“Coming!” It was a man’s voice. The men on the porch braced themselves as the target answered the door, only opening it a fraction when he saw the two giants on his porch.  
“What can I do for you gentlemen?”

“Hi Mr. Bowen? Wesley Bowen?” Sam asked. 

“Yes. Who wants to know?” 

“I’m Sam Winchester. This is my brother Dean. We’re with the Men of Letters and thought you might be able to help us.” At the mention of the Order, the man’s eyes lit up instantly; no mistaking it. 

“Honey, there are some gents here from work. I just have to take them around back and explain some filing work to them. Won’t be long!” he called over his shoulder, stepping out onto the porch and leading the way around the back of the house. The Winchesters followed and watched curiously as the man pulled a key from his pocket. It was attached to a belt loop with a chain. Guess he didn’t want to lose it, or have anyone else getting a hold of it. 

“Come in.” The man’s tone had changed dramatically from that of a mild-mannered financial consultant to that of a calculating, analytical hunter. This man knew things. After he closed the door and flipped on a light, the brothers were astounded to see maps and strings and pictures and all other manner of pins. 

“Looks like you’re on quite the hunt,” Dean mentioned, taking in every detail. His interest spiked when he glimpsed a picture of the girl; in fact, now that he was looking, there were quite a few of the same girl. 

“This one has led me on quite the merry chase, but I’ll get it in the end.” 

“What is it you’re hunting?” Sam asked, glancing at Dean. He knew as well that this was a man on a mission. They had to tread carefully if they were going to get information about the hunt that was his life’s work without giving themselves away. Bad things happened to hunters who got in the way of others in the business. 

“An ancient creature. Moves around a lot. Smart. But it’s always the same one. No spawn or anything, just the same one for generations. My grandfather even hunted this thing.”  
The man seemed to have become lost in his thoughts as his eyes glazed over while he stared at a certain map. It seemed newer than the others with a ton more pins in it. “Internet makes things a little easier for my part though. I’ve been so close to catching it so many times, but every time I get close, it slips through my fingers,” his tone darkened before he cleared his throat and turned back to the two tensing brothers. 

“Forgive me,” he chuckled, brightening instantly as soon as he turned away from that map. “I don’t run into many other hunters, or Men of Letters I should say, at all. No one to compare notes with. I lost the trail about a year ago. Haven’t been able to pick it up again, but I think I might have a new lead.” 

“We had a similar case a while back. A real hard creature to find. Had to bind death to finally nab the sucker,” Dean joked, only stumbling a little over the title of the big boss Reaper who he had put down. Bowen burst out laughing, pretending to wipe a tear from his cheek.

“Bind Death? You guys are too much.” He chuckled a bit longer before settling down and motioning to a couple other seats in the shed. “So how can I help you guys?”

“We were wondering about your father actually. What can you tell us about him? Some of our records were destroyed and you know the code of the Order is to gather intel on all things supernatural,” Dean covered. He already had the map memorized, if only he could find the pattern. 

“Oh of course!” For the next half hour, Dean and Sam listened and pretended to take notes on the stories Wesley Bowen was retelling, but the moment Dean saw the lead that would take them straight to the storyteller, the only reason he could sit still was that the ever darting glances of Bowen were making him nervous. It was as if he sensed something was off. 

“Thank you for your time. We’ll be sure to get all this logged and put in the books.” Sam smiled and held out a hand which was accepted and the men shook amiably. 

“Come back anytime boys! My wife would love to have you stay for dinner next time you’re in town.” 

“Sure man. We’ll see you around.” The Winchester’s rose and exited the shed, Sam catching onto Dean’s apprehension instantly but they walked as placidly as they could back to the car. Only once they were all in and driving away did Dean finally breathe easy. 

Wesley Bowen watched them drive away after he locked up the shed. His wife was still in the kitchen when he returned and he wrapped his arms around her, but barely felt the warmth of her skin. 

“I have to take a trip for work, honey.” 

“How long is the company sending you away this time?” she whimpered, leaning back into her husband.

“Only for about a week dearest. It should be an easy hit. A couple of buffoons just made a bad move and I need to clean up their mess.” By sheer force of will, Wesley kept his hands from noticeably shaking with the rush of being on the mutant’s scent trail pumping through his veins. Those blockhead hunters claiming to be “Men of Letters” had made a huge fumble in their interrogation. That shorter one was too obviously studying the maps of his target. 

“We didn’t ask him about the girl. He’s got a whole shed dedicated to generations of Bowens who have hunted whatever this girl is,” Sam explained to Cas as he settled back into the Impala. Dean was speeding back to their motel. 

“Yeah, not to mention he was a nut!” Dean snapped nervously. “That guy was all kinds of crazy. You should have seen that tactical shed he had locked up nice and tight.” 

“I must confess, I disobeyed.” Castiel’s pathetic tone made both Winchesters turn to the man in the trench coat hanging his head like a child. “I did not remain in the car. I followed you but hid myself in the spiritual plane so you could not sense my presence.” 

“Cas, you child,” Dean chuckled, reaching back and ruffling the angel’s hair. “Glad you had our backs.” 

When they reached the motel, Dean pulled out a US map and began circling cities with a black marker.

“There isn’t even a pattern,” Sam worried, but his brother was deep in thought. Capping the black marker, he pulled out a red and chewed on it thoughtfully. Sam began unpacking while Cas stood awkwardly looking over Dean’s shoulder when suddenly, the eldest Winchester slammed a fist down on the table and shouted triumphantly.

“What the - ” Sam growled, stalking over when Dean gestured. 

“Watch this,” Dean traced several lines between the points until a shape began to take form. When he stepped back, there was a distinctive shape, like a lion, but it was missing a paw. Leaning forward, Dean circled an area in Kansas and capped the pen. “If she’s holding to pattern, she’ll be somewhere in here.” 

“How do you figure?” Castiel still looked thoroughly confused. 

“Japanese zodiac. It’s the year of the lion.” Both Sam and Castiel glanced at each other disbelievingly but Dean saw and just rolled his eyes. “Just because a guy happens to check his horoscope in the paper doesn’t mean I’m dying!” 

“So according to this, the girl is in Kansas? She’s been right under our nose the whole time? How could we not have noticed or heard something?” Sam shook his head and tucked a strand of loose hair behind his ear. It was probably about time he got a trim, but Dean could go a little wild with those scissors. 

“Apparently. Get some rest and we’ll take off in the mornin’,” Dean instructed, tugging off his own boots. “Cas, you - ” 

“Don’t worry Dean. I only just got my grace back so I’m resting up as well but I can stand watch outside.” Without another word or fuss, the angel vanished, leaving the Winchesters stunned for a moment.

“Do you think something was off with the Bowen guy? He seemed a little nutty to me,” Sam confessed as he pulled out his toothbrush. 

“There was something there. Couldn’t place it though. I’m just wondering if we tipped him off enough that he’d follow us, or go after the girl himself,” Dean worried, shedding his outer layers and dropping back on the lumpy motel mattress. With a grimace, he realized just how spoiled he and Sammy had become living in the Bunker. 

“He’d have to figure out the trail first; and if he’s settled down enough to take a wife and a mortgage, I’d say he’s been off the scent for a while,” Sam mumbled through the fluoride foam. That boy and his habits drove Dean up the wall with his salads and even folding his damn socks in his drawers back home. 

“S’pose you’re right.” Something still seemed off to Dean but he suspected it was just anxieties about being out on the road again. Pulling the Bowie from his overnight bag, he slipped it under his pillow and flopped face-first into the scratchy sheets, using his feet to shuffle at least part of the blankets over himself. He was out like a light in seconds. 

“What if - ” Sam cut off when he saw his brother already slack-jawed and wiped a towel over his mouth, tossing it into the sink. Shaking his head, he carefully pulled the blankets from around Dean’s legs and draped them over his back. His older brother barely budged. As Sam sat on the opposite bed, he couldn’t help just staring at Dean for a moment: his arm carefully under the pillow where he kept hold of a knife even in his sleep, the other arm draped over the side of the bed where the Mark of Cain had so recently been removed, and the tiniest creases where the stress of being a hunter were just beginning to show but were gently eased while he was asleep. Dean had known no other life than that of a hunter while Sam had gone off to college and lived a fairly normal life even if it was just for a couple years. They were all each other had left, brothers til the end, and their family had grown for a while but no one seemed to last when they came in contact with the Winchesters. Everyone they loved had died at least once, and the pain of Charlie…that one was on his hands. Charlie was dead and Rowena roamed free. 

As Sam lay back on his pillow on the side nearest his brother, he realized that sleep was not going to give him rest tonight. Still, it was a comfort to close his grip around the Glock he had secreted away under his pillow. And then there was Cas somewhere nearby so, with a grin, Sam let his eyes drift closed at least for a few restless hours. 

The trio pulled into Winona, Kansas around six that evening and stopped in at the Springhill Motel, renting a room and dropping their stuff before heading off to the nearest bar  
for dinner. It was also a decent place to start digging for information. Castiel had mysteriously gone out scouting when they stopped at the motel so it was just Dean and Sam walking into Harvey’s Bar and Grill and they sat down at the closest empty table. 

“What can I get you fellas?” 

“Whatever’s on tap and a burger for me.” 

“Tap for me as well and I’ll just take whatever ham and cheese sandwich you’ve got,” Sam nodded politely to the waitress who grinned appraisingly at him. She wasn’t too bad with that jean skirt and curly blonde hair pulled over her shoulder. As she left, Sam thought she might be swaying her hips a little dramatically to not be noticed by even the next three tables. Glancing back at Dean who was raising and eyebrow mockingly, Sam said, “Shut up.”

The room was surprisingly packed with nearly every stool at the bar taken with a wide range of occupants; mostly male Dean noted. “You take a lap and I’ll hit the bar, see if anyone recognizes her.” Dean held up the picture he had snatched from the file from his pocket and let Sam take a shot of it with his phone. 

“Got it.” Dean finished his burger quickly and claimed a recently vacated bar stool, folding his hands on the counter. 

“What can I get ya?” A middle-aged woman with a rag over her shoulder and rough looking features halted Dean’s scan of the bar occupants. 

“Beer’s good.” The woman ducked behind the counter and retrieved a nice lager, popping off the top for him, but before she could disappear, Dean added, “And some info if you’ve got a second.” The woman shrugged, wiping the counter in front of him and waiting. “I’m looking for someone. A girl.” The woman scoffed but narrowed her eyes when he pulled out the picture. Dean saw the spark of recognition and realized instantly they had found the right place.

“Looks like a pretty old photo you’ve got there, or is that just for effect?” She was fishing. She knew something but wouldn’t let on without a little convincing. Dean knew the type. 

“Yeah it does don’t it. My brother and I just blew into town but we heard this was the place to come if we needed directions.” Dean put a twenty discreetly on the bar and slid it over under his empty first bottle. The woman chuckled, shaking her head, but it was a dry laugh. She grabbed the glass, tossed it under the counter, and slapped her hand down on the bill, glaring at Dean. 

“Don’t try this stuff with me again. I don’t appreciate the stereotypical easy barkeep moves.” She shook the bill in his face but tucked it inside her bodice anyway. “But I think I might be able to help you anyway. You seem like nice kids.” Dean signaled Sam from across the room and he instantly stopped flirting with the blonde waitress and wove his way through the crowd. 

“The girl you’re looking for, she’s here. Right over my shoulder.” The Winchesters glanced that direction and saw a grinning row of grizzly old men; on the near side of the bar across from them was a woman with brown hair and a sweet smile. She looked too innocent to be a barkeep in a place like this. Dean moved to go over to her but the lady bar owner snapped his hand with the towel. He gave a startled yelp but Sam sat him back down with a wary glance at their neighbors. 

“Wait just a minute now! I said you looked like nice boys, but you’re going to have to prove that to her.”

“What do you mean?” Sam queried, leaning a bit closer on the edge of the bar. Dean clenched his jaw to keep from snapping at this stranger; instead, he focused on the smarting welt on his hand. 

“Now she’s one of the best barkeeps I’ve had come through here. Even keeps that old grouch on the end there, Richard, happy.” The man she nodded towards was nursing a thick glass of dark whiskey beneath a peppered beard down to his chest, but as they watched the girl, she spoke to him, touching his hand and throwing another shot into his cup. She put a finger to her lips and nodded over her shoulder at her boss and surprisingly, the Winchesters watched as a half-grin noticeably brightened the man’s features for a moment. 

“Sure she throws a few drinks out to people here and there, but she pays it all back out of her tips. Tries to do it when I’m not looking.” The woman claimed their attention again, rubbing a sore spot on her shoulder. “She’s a good girl, and I won’t have you scaring her off. Now she’s easily spooked, but if you can come back for two more days, she’ll come to you; and I promise, you’ll get a lot more info out of her. It’s up to you.” 

“Will you put in a good word and tell her to keep an eye on us or something?” Dean asked. This woman was acting like a protective mother hen and it caught him off guard. You didn’t find many people today who looked after anyone but themselves; especially in a bar in some random town off the beaten trail. 

The woman grinned and even chuckled as she went back to serving her other customers. “She already knows you’re here.” Sam and Dean exchanged a glance as they returned to their table. 

“What do you think Dean?” Sam tipped back his beverage of choice, staring at the girl who continued to quietly serve drinks. The waitress he had spoken to had recognized the picture and pointed the girl out immediately, almost without looking and when he asked about that, she explained that the girl hardly ever came out from behind the bar. She was a quiet, dependent type of girl; for some reason, popular with the out-of-towners. But the account they had gotten from the owner shed a whole different light on the girl. This case was ridiculously confusing. 

“Let’s stick around for a while and come back tomorrow. I know we’re on a time table but she did look pretty flighty. Wouldn’t want to scare this thing off too soon.” Dean tipped back in his chair with a sigh. Despite his normally abrupt, brash nature, he knew good advice when he heard it, especially when it was given with conviction. Besides, this thing hadn’t dropped any bodies that they could find account of so there wasn’t any real danger to the civilians. 

Sam pulled out a laptop from his bag and began tapping away, probably looking for more signs of the Darkness. It had been unnaturally quiet since it was released. Dean, however, studied the girl at the bar. If she was the target, he would do his own research. Though the owner had said the girl already knew they were there, Dean couldn’t help doubting. She didn’t even glance their way the rest of the night and when she went on break, she practically disappeared into thin air. 

That night, Dean’s subconscious plagued him with images of Charlie in the bathtub at that dump of a motel where the Stynes had cut her up to get information, but the brave girl hadn’t caved. Around sunrise, Dean woke with a start in a cold sweat and dabbed at his nose. There was blood dripping so he shuffled to the bathroom and leaned over the sink. He looked at himself in the dark mirror, hesitating momentarily for fear that he would once again see those inky depths staring back at him. Part of him remembered being a demon, but the part that was very much human trembled at the same memory. Rinsing the blood from his hands and face, he waited for the drops of red splashing against the cream porcelain to stop before returning to his bed with a groan. He could never have imagined his future seeming even more hopeless than before back when he and Sammy were just hunting the things bumping around in the night. Being a hunter meant you didn’t live long and you usually died bloody, but he had died and come back a long time ago and now realized there were worse fates. 

“I’m headed back to Harvey’s. You coming?” Dean tugged on his boots and tightened the laces that evening. 

“Yeah sure. I could use a drink.” The brothers climbed in the Impala and made the short trek. “Have you seen Cas around?” 

Dean shrugged and wet his lips, anxious to have a nice glass of whiskey neat clasped in his hand. “He said he was going scouting yesterday. Maybe he found something to keep him occupied for a while.” 

The bar was still relatively full when they arrived and the owner greeted them with a nod, setting up a couple beers on the bar and beckoning them over. 

“Good to see you’re taking my advice. Here’s another bit for you: don’t get drunk tonight and watch for what isn’t there more than what is. There’s more to this girl than just what you see.” With that bit of enigmatic counsel, the Winchester boys took up residence at their table from the night before and sat back for the monotonous show. 

While Sam was lost in cyberspace, Dean caught the eye of a girl with long blonde hair over by the pool tables and grinned. 

“I’m gonna see if I can get any more intel from the locals,” he coughed, sauntering over. His brother rolled his eyes but continued working.

But something strange did happen that night. Around 10, a guy in his mid-twenties caught the younger Winchester’s attention as he pushed his way up to the bar where the girl was working and the man wore a totally wasted grin. 

“Hey, when do you get off?” he chuckled smoothly. The eye rolling of everyone in the joint was practically audible. Dean had noticed by this point as well. The girl just turned away to serve a different customer. “Hey lady I’m tryin’ to ask you out,” he slurred and grabbed the girl’s wrist. Even Dean was caught off guard by the instantaneous reaction of all ten guys sitting at that bar. The nearest one grabbed the drunk and twisted his wrist so he was forced to release the girl’s. As he stumbled backwards, another guy helped him along with a savage punch in his jaw that sent the man tumbling to the floor. 

“Hey! What’s going on here?” the bar owner snapped and charged over to the scene like a grizzly. 

“I got it Pat,” the scruffy man on the end rose from his stool and drained his glass, wiping the back of his hand across his peppery beard. In three steps, he was standing over the drunk with a look Dean instantly recognized. Their father had worn the same look whenever something got close to him or Sam back when they were kids. He usually let the devil lose at that point, figuratively. “Come on boy. You’ve had plenty.” The man dabbed at his bloody lip but his reaction time was too slow and with surprising swiftness, the guy with the beard grabbed the man by the back of his jacket, hauling him up and practically dragging him out the back door.

Conversation resumed steadily soon afterwards but there was definitely a shift in the atmosphere. 

“Tom, come here,” the girl’s voice was quiet but its soothing tone carried over the alcohol drenched air. Dean and Sam watched as the man who had socked the drunk turned back to the bar and grudgingly held out his fist for the girl’s examination. She produced an icepack but even though it looked like he was going to refuse at first, the man reluctantly took it. 

“What happened here?” Cas’ gravelly tones startled Dean out of his tunnel vision as the angel appeared beside them at the table. 

“Looks like we might have a bit more trouble with this woman than we expected. To get to her, apparently we have to get past her bodyguards,” Sam explained with a nod towards the bar. 

“These aren’t just a bunch of regular drunks. They’re all hunters,” Dean muttered under his breath. The idea had been growing in his mind as he took in the bar and its occupants. There were certain types of eyes you looked for in his kind of people. He could pick them out of a lineup: those who’ve seen and killed what no one else could even fathom in their darkest nightmares.


	2. Chapter 2

Tom’s knuckles were bruising whether he would admit it or not. He had let loose on that creep; I heard the crack of his jaw. I didn’t want to think of what Richard was doing with him out back. A tremor shook me as I turned back to the sink to hide my distress from the hunters. They’d be able to sense it immediately and I didn’t want to get them riled up to start more fights, even if they were sweethearts for coming so quickly to my rescue. As I turned, I spared a glance towards the table where the two younger hunters had set up to wait on Pat’s orders. There was a third figure there. A lump caught in my throat and I barely felt the scalding water running over my hands. His wings…If those hunters were in the company of an angel, there would be only one reason they were here.

  
Tears momentarily welled in my eyes but I quickly brushed them away. I knew this was coming eventually. Almost a year had passed since I had dragged myself into Winona and I was shocked I had even been able to stay this long. I would have to give Pat my notice tonight and get out of here tomorrow. There was no stalling when it came to the time to move. I peeked around the pillar in the center of the bar at the young hunters again. The third man was still there but the other two weren’t looking at him. There was a shimmering effect around his person that clued me into the fact that he had transferred to the celestial plane. Sometimes it was really a curse to be able to see it. 

The angel only affirmed my decision to leave so I switched off the water, put on my most believable smile, and turned back to the bar. These hunters had come here for information and stayed because they had figured out I was more of a wellspring of information than all of the books and data they’d collected. Some of them had become dear friends though they were unaware of who I really was. I was careful not to tell them too much revealing. 

“Hey Pat,” I dried my hands and pulled her aside. I took a deep breath and bit my lip. It was hard to meet her eyes. She had taken me in without reserve and practically saved me. She didn’t truly understand just how much, but she understood enough. 

“Oh honey, already?” Her perception was incredible but I smiled sadly, nodding. 

“It’s time.”

“Could you…at least help me out tomorrow night? You know how crazy Thursdays can get.” Though she was bold in everything else, sentiment was something Pat found difficult, but I could read between the lines of her request. The corner of my mouth lifted in a smile and I nodded my affirmation before heading back to work.

* * *

 

“I don’t know Sam. Something’s off.” Dean had been watching the girl carefully after the incident and she was definitely giving off signs of distress. After telling Cas to keep an eye on her, Dean returned to slowly destroying his liver. 

“This is taking too long.” Dean glanced up from his glass at his brother. There was already a pleasant sort of warmth spreading from his center which meant the Daniels was getting to work. “Don’t you feel something off about all this? The way the barkeeper has been treating us, and the weird looks the guys at the bar have been giving us since we got here. You have to have noticed it.”

“Calm it down Sammy. They’re hunters. They can smell another hunter from miles off.” Sam’s jaw tightened and he took a fresh glance around the bar. Dean watched as his eyes lit with understanding and the muscle in his brother’s jaw clenched. “Like I said, take it easy.” 

“So what are we hoping to get out of this girl anyway? If she really is the girl in the Men of Letters file, how will we know?”

“We’ll show her the file. See how she reacts,” Dean stated matter-of-factly, taking another swig and baring his teeth at the bitter brew gliding across his tongue. 

“You think it’ll be that simple? What if she runs?” Sam queried, glancing at the girl herself. So Sam had noticed her change in behavior. 

“Well we can’t exactly grab…” Dean cut off as a waitress nonchalantly glided past their table, shooting a grin at the brother offering her an encouraging smolder. Dean kicked Sam’s shin under the table, making the other man grunt and clench his teeth. “Focus,” the elder brother grouched at the younger. Sam shrugged. “As I was saying, we can’t exactly just grab her in front of everybody. These are not just your average drunks and for some reason, they’ve obviously formed an attachment to this chick. As confident as I am in your brawling skills, we’d stand no chance. Not to mention we’d probably get nothing out of her then for sure.”

“So?”

“So we wait. I’d think you being the lawyer and all you’d know this is a game of people not our usual hit and run.” And so they waited til closing and left the bar when they noticed the girl go in the back. She would pack her things and be out in five minutes so they hurried over to the Impala and hunkered down to wait. 

“Dude,” Dean smacked Sam’s arm when the girl walked out of the bar and tossed her bag into the backseat of a car. 

“What? We’re supposed to be observing. You know, not being seen, not being heard?”

“But that’s…oh…” Sam gave his brother an odd look but the elder didn’t even notice. He was practically drooling as the girl approached one of the only cars that would ever come close to comparing to Baby. “It’s a cherry red Pontiac GTO. ’65 by the look of it!” Dean snatched the binoculars from his brother and scanned the tire wells and trim. “Not a hair of rust on that thing. Brownie points for the car buff!” He dropped the binoculars and leaned back in his seat with a wistful look on his face. Sam just shook his head and rolled his eyes. As he returned to watching the girl, something odd caught his attention so he picked up the discarded ocular device. The girl was scanning the parking lot and there was an almost haunted look on her face. Her hand seemed to freeze on the car handle and as hard as Sam tried, he couldn’t find the thing that seemed to be making her shake on the other side of the parking lot. 

“Dean, she’s acting pretty squirrely. You told Cas to keep an eye on her right?” 

“Yeah. If she ends up running, he’ll give us a call.” Still, as Sam was in the driver’s seat, he revved up the engine and followed at a safe distance all the way back to the girl’s apartment. She parked on the street and after glancing nervously around, she entered a rundown old brick complex. 

“Come on Sam. Cas’ got this and I’m tired,” Dean grumbled with a yawn. “Tomorrow you can go all good cop bad cop on her.” 

“Alright alright,” Sam muttered, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were missing something. Dean didn’t want to send Sam into a downward spiral any more than he already was, but he had noticed the oddities too. Cas had better be on his ‘A’ game tonight. As evidenced by the girl’s history, when she didn’t want to be found, she disappeared and something told him, they didn’t have a year to be searching for one person with the Darkness looming over their heads.

Back in their motel room, Dean practically flopped on his bed and groaned.  
“I can’t wait to get back to my own bed. This cheap motel crap is getting old fast.”

“You’re getting soft in your old age,” Sam goaded and his brother chucked a boot at his head. 

“You shut your mouth!” The joking air dissipated as the boys readied themselves for bed and Sam was the first to break the tense silence.

“What do you think’ll happen tomorrow? Do you really think this girl has the answers about the Darkness we’re looking for?”

Sinking onto his pillow with a heavy sigh, Dean pursed his lips, raking over the lower one with his teeth. “We’re due for a little hope right? Let’s hold on to that. Now get some sleep. Tomorrow will take care of itself.” Dean rolled over so he was facing his brother’s back across the space between the beds. Hope, you hear that universe? Is that too much to ask for?

“For living in one place for a year, she didn’t have much to pack.” Cas and Sam were sitting at the cheap, round linoleum table as Dean came out of the bathroom rubbing a towel over his head. 

“Who’s packing?” The angel turned to the freshly showered Winchester. 

“The woman you had me watch last night. I didn’t approach, just watched, like you said,” he assured and Dean tossed his towel onto the rumpled sheets of his bed. “She put all of her belongings into a couple boxes and a single bag. Like I said, there wasn’t much, and she was rather restless throughout the evening after putting everything in her car, but she also set out her work uniform, so she plans on returning to the establishment tonight.” 

“Looks like we won’t be staying here again. Pack up Sammy.” The afternoon was spent cleaning the weapons and performing some much needed maintenance on some of the less used rifles. Cas was back on guard duty in case the girl was just bluffing and ran early, but by her regular shift at six, she hadn’t run, so the boys returned to Harvey’s for hopefully the last time. 

As they walked in, there was a new purpose in their stride and a couple of the regulars nearest the door noticed and moved out of the way. The Winchesters approached the bar and nodded Pat over who watched them warily and approached with a stern look on her face. 

“What do you want?” The boys glanced at each other, both surprised by her gruff manner. 

“Just a couple of beers. Who spit in your cereal this morning?” The woman glared at Dean and shook her head. 

“Should’ve kicked you two out when I had the chance. Now you’ve done gone and scared off one of the best bartenders I’ve ever had.” This only affirmed Castiel’s observations of the girl packing last night. She was planning on running. 

“Hey, we didn’t scare her off, took everything slow just like you said, so if she’s leaving, it’s for some other reason than us.” Pat’s face was scrutinizing as she uncapped the beers and handed them over but both Winchesters met her gaze with unwavering determination. 

Finally, the woman harrumphed and began wiping the bar only to pause and shake her head. “She’s probably only here out of obligation to talk to you boys. Woulda been gone yesterday otherwise.” She nodded at Sam. “You seem more the type she’s likely to talk to but she’s still skittish so keep your questions short and to the point. Easiest way is to have a file that she can flip through and fill in your blanks. Happy hunting boys, and don’t come back.” Turning away still grumbling, Pat resumed serving her loyal customers while Sam led the way to their usual table. 

“She’s pleasant,” Dean joked with a shake of his head. “Looks like you’ve got point on the interrogation. You got the file?” Sam nodded in affirmation, patting his bag. 

“Cas, stay out of sight for a while. Don’t want to spook her by having a third guy show up,” Sam muttered under his breath. The angel would hear it. 

It was only about eight o’clock when Dean finally locked eyes with her. The girl was wringing her hands in her apron behind the counter but she was staring right at them so Dean nudged Sam’s foot to set him on alert. Time slowed as she removed her apron, folding it neatly behind the bar, and smiled at Pat. The pair exchanged a few words before the older woman handed her an envelope and squeezed her shoulder. The girl turned to face their table and seemed to collect herself before walking over. This was the moment of truth. 

Sam suddenly stood and held out the third chair at the table, which she tentatively sank into. No one spoke a word as Sam returned to his seat; both parties sizing each other up. Up close and in person, she wasn’t all that extraordinary looking: straight brown hair pulled back, green eyes, average height and build. He expected something a bit more…well, more after seeing her picture, but they were definitely one and the same. What kind of creature was this? Finally, she spoke.

“Hi. You can call me Riley. What can I do for you?” Dean couldn’t place her accent, but her voice in general was soft and instantly lulled him into a state of peace. Numerous red flags shot up. Sam seemed to have more of his wits about him as he started easy. Dean was still slightly dazed for some reason but he tried to shake himself out of the stupor. Now wasn’t the time to be letting his guard down. 

“We’re hunters to start off.” The girl pressed her lips together in a suppressed smile. “And we were told you could help us out. It’s a very particular case, based in some pretty outdated lore.”

“What’s your creature’s m.o.?” 

“Never stays in the same place too long, usually goes pretty unnoticed on the outskirts of society, no kills so far that we’ve found…” Dean could tell as he explained, she was becoming a bit confused and agitated, fidgeting in her chair as the crease between her brows deepened. She also glanced behind him a few times, hardly noticeable except to someone with a trained eye. “Take it easy. We know this isn’t a lot to go on.” Dean offered and the girl locked eyes with him, causing him to almost catch his breath as if there was a blow being thrown. His fists clenched involuntarily.

“How far back does your lore knowledge go?” Sam asked, drawing her attention back to their ‘hunt’. She grinned and bit her cheek, regaining her composure. 

“Pretty far. I still can’t figure out what exactly you’re hunting.” 

“Maybe this will help.” Sam produced the old file and dropped it in front of her. The Men of Letters seal was on the front in faded red ink but her reaction was what the boys were looking for. Her entire body went rigid halfway across the table, her hand freezing over the manila folder. As his hunter instincts kicked into high gear, Dean imagined he could almost hear her pulse hammering audibly, but he definitely wasn’t imagining the tremor that claimed the girl’s hand as she slid the file closer and flipped it open, her glassy eyes drifting across the generation’s old script. 

“What is this?” Her voice was hardly audible and there was unmistakable trembling in it. For some reason, Dean felt kind of bad, but her reaction spooked him more. If this was really the girl in the file, she was older than his great great grandfather; so how the heck did she still look this young? She couldn’t be older than 20s or early 30s. 

“I think you know exactly what it is. Now we need you to answer a few questions for us ‘Riley’, though I think we both know why I’d have reason to doubt that’s your real name at this point.” Despite himself, Dean shot Sam a warning look to take it down a notch. The girl was paler than a ghoul as she finally looked up at them after flipping through just a few of the pages. 

“Who are you?”

“My name’s Sam Winchester and this is my brother Dean. Care to tell us your real name now?” The girl bit her lip and shook her head, her gaze dropping to her lap but Dean watched her eyes shoot towards the front door and then to the back. “So what are you huh? Demon? Shifter? What are you?” Sam growled, leaning in. Dean glanced around warily but no one had taken notice of their heated debate, yet. 

“I’m human. I swear. I’m not a monster.” Sam scoffed and sat back but that didn’t make him any less intense. 

“Just tell us what you are. We’ve seen a lot of crazy crap in our day. Vamps, Leviathans, Angels, Demons, you name it, and according to this, you’re as non-human as they come.” The girl seemed to angle herself towards Dean and bit her cheek while he played good cop apparently. 

“No I promise. I’m human. You can even have him check…” she drifted off and her eyes widened as her face came up and her gaze locked on something behind Dean. 

“That’s not possible.” Cas’ voice startled Dean and he whipped around to find the angel standing just behind him, but the celestial’s eyes were locked on the girl sitting at their table. “You shouldn’t have been able to sense my presence let alone see me yet you claim to be human?” The trench-coated arm reached out towards the girl but she suddenly held up a pale hand. 

“I’m just going to warn you, be careful. It’s – it’s not what you think.” With a crease on his brow, Castiel reached out and touched the girl’s forehead. Almost immediately, he was caught in some kind of trance and the wind began to stir around him. When Castiel began to open his eyes and they were glowing, Dean grabbed his wrist and pulled him down into a chair, breaking their contact. The angel seemed dazed and the girl seemed apprehensive. 

“Well?” Sam urged and Cas met his stare with incredulous eyes. 

“Her soul. It’s very human, but something about it is so very strong. I almost couldn’t contain my celestial form.” Castiel began clenching the fist which had touched her and the Winchesters eyed the strange girl warily. 

“Now, who are you and what do you want?” Sam opened his mouth to respond but the girl held up her hand again. “Not with words.” Though she was still trembling, the girl put her hand on the table and tentatively reached out with her palm up. Sighing, she turned to Dean. 

“What does that prove?” The eldest Winchester queried. This was all very bizarre. 

“Only take my hand if you want me to trust you. Words are cheap. Your story will tell me who you are.” So this was like a palm reading thing? Could this chick be some kind of witch? Time was frozen as Dean stared at the supposedly human woman and contemplated his options. By taking her hand, he didn’t know what would happen, but even after Sam’s intense interrogation, she was willing to offer them her trust. That wasn’t something to be taken for granted in this kind of business. Despite the hesitant look on her face and the apprehensive look Sam was giving him, Dean reached out and grabbed the girl’s hand. 

He never knew the definition of watching your life flashing in front of your eyes before that moment. Dean literally saw every moment of his life flash in front of his eyes as if he was reliving it all in what felt like hours but actually only lasted about 15 seconds. Still, he relived his time with the Mark, watching Sam go through the trials, even his time in Hell, all the way back to his first memory of touching his mom’s face with miniature hands as she sang him to sleep. 

Dean ripped his hand away and locked his eyes on Riley’s, which he found looked absolutely tortured. Had she actually seen all that? If so, she knew everything about him, even stuff he hadn’t shared with his brother. No wonder she had warned them beforehand. But her face…was she crying?

“Dean, what…” Sam looked concerned and definitely uncomfortable but his brother wouldn’t be able to comprehend what had just happened without experiencing it for himself. 

“It’s fine, it’s alright Sam.” Dean reached out to touch the girl’s limp arm and she jolted as if electrocuted and locked eyes with him.

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” she sniffled and a crease formed on her brow as she dabbed at her nose. Her hand came away bloody. Sam offered a napkin and she gratefully pressed it to her nose, tipping her head back. 

“Well, what’s the verdict?” Sam queried and the girl dabbed the last of the blood from her face, crumpling the napkin in her fist which she held in her lap. 

“You are honorable men. I will help you as best as I can, but there’s…” The girl cut off and froze. Dean recognized the unadulterated terror in her eyes and whipped around. Recognition lit his features as he turned back to his brother. 

“It’s Bowen.” 

“He knows. He found me. You brought him here. I have to go!” The girl clenched the bloody napkin in her hand and shot to her feet, turning to bolt out the back door, but Dean caught her arm. The next moment all took place in the span of a few seconds and caught all involved off guard. As Dean caught the girl’s arm and followed her up, he placed himself between her and the front door where Bowen was scanning the room and the pair backed up quickly caused by their momentum. Riley’s back struck the wall and before either of them could really react, Dean followed his instincts and pressed his lips to hers. Both of their eyes were open, making the experience that much more surreal. The woman’s lips were soft and yielding despite the abruptness of the impromptu kiss and Dean almost forgot the reason he was kissing a complete stranger as the woman’s surprised hands came to rest lightly on his chest.

They parted momentarily and Dean whispered, “Cas, take Sam and get the car.” There was a rush of wind as the two other men abruptly disappeared as Dean settled a hand on the delicate curve of the woman’s waist and the other he propped against the wall over her head as he leaned back in. He didn’t kiss her again though. Instead, he whispered softly against her flushed mouth, “People tend to look away from PDA. We have to get out of here quickly and quietly. The door isn’t far.” He gestured with a glance towards the back door merely eight feet away. 

“Got it,” she whispered back and he was slightly startled as she grabbed his shirt with both hands and pulled him into another kiss. It was purely instinctual that he followed when she began walking backwards. Only once they were in the dark of the back room did she release him and even then, Dean was stunned for a moment. They both stood panting in the shadowy hallway, the air between them crackling and burning as Dean pulled several breaths into his blazing lungs. 

“Let’s go,” Dean growled, grabbing Riley’s hand and leading the way out the back. She kept glancing over her shoulder for pursuit but none had come, yet. Outside, the light was blinding but only for a moment as Dean led the way directly to the Impala. Sam had it revving with Cas riding shotgun just across the lot. When they pair in the car spotted them, Sam grabbed the wheel and shifted it out of park to get ready to fly. 

“Wait, my bag!” the woman gasped and pulled her hand from Dean’s, darting over to the GTO. Dean followed, keeping a lookout as she retrieved the bag and clutched it to her chest. The pair were jogging to the idling Impala when they both jumped as a door slammed open.

“Winchesters!” Wesley Bowen was stalking across the lot with his gun drawn. Before Dean could even draw his own weapon, the other man had brought his up and aimed directly at his chest. 

“Run!” The woman shoved Dean towards the car as three successive gunshots rang out. The pair ducked inside the backseat of the Impala, Dean smacking his brother on the shoulder. 

“Go! Sam go!” Dean yelled, slamming the door. Sam gunned the engine and the Impala spit gravel as it flew from the lot onto the county road. Dean watched the crazy man through the back window as he faded into the distance, running towards a little silver Prius. “He’s gonna chase! Get us out of here.”

“He actually shot at you?!” Sam exclaimed. Dean shook his head. That guy was seriously messed up. A small whimper cut through the tension of the car and as Dean turned, the woman rather delicately released her bag from a vice like grip and set it on the seat between them. Only then did he follow her gaze down to the haunting red flower blooming on the woman’s shirt. 

“Shit!” Dean snarled, shoving the bag to the floor and trying to press a hand against the wound to slow the drain of life from the girl’s body. As she slouched sideways onto his shoulder, Dean realized that not only one but two of the bullets had actually hit her when she had pushed him out of the way.

“What’s…” Sam darted a look back over his shoulder and blanched when he saw all the blood. 

“Hospital. Now,” Dean snapped. One of the woman’s hands caught his wrist and she shook her head. Despite the pain, there was lucidity and panic in her eyes. 

“That’s the first place he’ll look.” She coughed, blood staining the corner of her mouth. A string of curse words ran through Dean’s head. She was dying and didn’t want to go to a hospital? “Did – did they go through?” she gasped, her hand fluttering over the wounds. 

Dean tentatively reached around and felt on the girl’s back for exit wounds. There were two. “Yeah. Clean through.” The girl actually smiled and noticeably relaxed against him. Dean looked down at his hands absolutely drenched in blood and terror gripped his throat. She was fading fast. “Cas!” Dean suddenly remembered, and the angel was immediately on alert. “Do something! Can’t you heal her? You got your mojo back right?” Castiel reached a hand over the backseat and touched the girl’s forehead. She blinked slowly but nothing changed. A fresh burst of sticky blood pulsed from the wound. 

“I…I can’t Dean. Anyone else but she – ” 

“It’s ok Castiel. Thank you for trying.” Despite her life flowing out onto Dean’s hands, the girl actually had the desire to thank Cas for a failed attempt at saving her?

“Dean…” Sam worried, glancing in the rearview mirror. Dean looked out the back and saw the silver Prius pulling into sight, and it was gaining. 

“Dammit, keep going!” 

“Dean, it’s alright; it’ll be alright.” The woman placed a gentle hand on his face as he pulled her over to lay across his lap. She was supposed to give them all the answers, help them defeat the Darkness, but some lunatic had just shot her outside a random bar. He felt hope fading just like the light in her eyes. 

“Sorry,” was all he could think to say. Her chest convulsed and her eyes widened but still, the girl hung on. 

“I’m scared,” she breathed, the first evidence of tears forming in her eyes. Considering, she was holding it together pretty well. “Do one thing for me?” Dean nodded, clenching his jaw. “Don’t burn my body ok? And whatever happens, keep driving. Don’t stop. He won’t stop – stop hunting…you…” She began shaking and her voice drifted off. Though she was still breathing, her eyes began fluttering and Dean couldn’t idly bear the fury making his vision turn red. 

“Pull over,” Dean spat through his clenched jaw. 

“Is she – ” 

“Sam, pull the car over.” The Impala ground to a halt on the side of the road, settling onto the gravel with an anxious sigh as Dean opened the back door and stepped out, gently sliding the girl from his lap and lying her in the backseat. The girl’s blood had soaked his clothes. No one in their right mind would pull over anywhere near him, but he wasn’t trying to get the attention of someone in their right mind. 

“Dean, she’s not breathing.” Sam had come around the car to the backseat and pulled the girl out, laying her on the ground. While Sam began CPR in vain, Dean watched as Bowen drove closer and closer until he was mere meters away before he slammed on his brakes and pulled over. As the man got out, he clenched both hands in his hair, the Glock in his fist flailing haphazardly. 

“What is going on here? I thought you guys were Men of Letters! The Archive is my responsibility!” Deadpan, Dean strode towards the other man, taking each step deliberately until they were face to face. Faster than Bowen could comprehend, Dean ripped the gun from his hand, breaking the man’s thumb. The rage boiling inside him fueled the bloodlust pounding through his veins, turning him into a tank. He was an immovable force as he rained blow after blow down on the man who barely had the time to block him, let alone fight back. With every strike, Dean pictured the poor girl’s face inches from his; saw her eyes cloud with confusion and then clear with determination as they formulated a plan to get out of the bar. There was a small fraction of him that was surprised Sam or Cas hadn’t pulled him off this miserable oaf yet, but beating his face in just wasn’t good enough. Dean felt nauseous so he dropped the man on his knees and took a few steps back, drawing the very gun that had snuffed out the girl’s innocent light. 

“Please…only my job…my wife – ” the man pleaded, spitting blood from his mouth. One eye was already swollen shut, his nose was broken in multiple places and his lip was split deep; not to mention all the bruising that would show up later, plus hopefully some cracked ribs. Dean thought he felt one or two give way somewhere in there. 

“Dean stop. Don’t do this,” Castiel warned at his shoulder. 

“He killed her in cold blood. She was our only chance of beating this thing Cas. He’s doomed us all. He’s a killer and he needs to be put down.” He clicked the safety off. And aimed at Bowen’s head. He deserved this. All Dean saw was red; a pulsing red heat of bitterness that writhed and ripped its way through him and dripped down his ravaged knuckles until all that was left was the husk of a man holding a gun to another’s head.

“Dean, stop!” Sam shouted, the gravel behind him shifting to tell Dean his brother wouldn’t reach him in time to stop the bullet prepared to leave the chamber. 

“Dean, no.” His finger froze just short of squeezing that trigger as what seemed like a ghost walked between him and the other hunter. The girl had smeared blood trickling down her chin and her eyes were glazed over but there she stood, holding up a hand after putting herself between him and her murderer. 

“He needs to die,” Dean affirmed, but the gun lowered a fraction. 

She shook her head with a sad smile. “You can’t be a killer anymore Dean. It’s time for you to be a hunter. There are enough bad people like him in the world. It’s up to you to be good.” Dean gritted his teeth. After all she had seen through his past, how could she tell him that? 

The woman took two steps towards him before crumpling. Dean immediately dropped the gun to catch her, his hands fluttering uselessly over her neck and chest, searching for any signs of life. She was still gasping for breath though how she had found the strength to even get this far was completely beyond him. Her eyes drew his attention with their clarity and without any trepidation, she continued, “There’s always a choice to pull that trigger and the honorable man is the one who can, but doesn’t. Being a hunter isn’t just about killing things, it’s about saving lives.” That determined light finally faded from her eyes as the breath left her body in a final, tired release. Dean lay down her body for the second time and realized, she was saving two souls that day. 

Using a shaking, sticky hand, Dean pressed the girl’s eyes closed and took a deep breath, raising his eyes to glare at the man who was curled up against the bumper of his car, beaten and broken. Dean rose and strode forward, grabbing Bowen around the neck and turning him to look at the girl’s body lying on the side of the road. Cas picked her up and carried her back to the car, wrapping her securely in a blanket. “You see her? You see?” Dean spat. “She’s the only reason you’re alive you son of a bitch. She showed you kindness that was completely underserved. Your Men of Letters title is revoked, and I never want to see you again or so help me, I will empty this clip into your face. Get me?” Shoving the man backwards so he stumbled against his stupid silver car, Dean stuck the Glock in the back of his jeans. He would empty it in the range when they got back to the Bunker. It would be too much of a temptation to keep it loaded. Sam approached his brother, putting a hand on his shoulder and offering him a sympathetic look coupled with a respectful nod. 

Bowen glared at the Winchesters, glowering at the car where the girl’s body was now hidden from view. Instead of gracefully backing out, he spat blood and saliva contemptuously in her direction. The boys gaped at the audacious move as he even started yelling, having managed to pull himself up to his knees. 

“Poisonous bitch! The Bowens will never stop hunting you for as long as you live! My sons and their sons after them will - ” Sam struck once, hard in Wesley Bowen’s temple and he dropped like a rock. The younger Winchester flexed his knuckles as Dean clenched his jaw. 

“You won’t be hunting for a while.” Swinging open the driver’s side door, Dean set the Prius in neutral and jammed the gas down, releasing the emergency brake. Wordlessly, the brothers set the car rolling into the ditch and both breathed with satisfaction while it tumbled several times down the incline before erupting in a ball of fire. 

The drive back to the Bunker was silent. Cas stayed with them. There was safety in numbers with the unknown enemy lurking around. Dean was solemn as he carried the girl’s blanketed body into one of the spare rooms and laid her out on the bed. Dean collapsed into a chair at the bedside and buried his face in his hands. Sam and Cas left him to grieve.

 


	3. Chapter 3

It was the early hours of the morning when Dean finally emerged to find the others sitting at the table with an open chair and a cooler of beers.

“What do we do now?” Sam wondered aloud. They all knew there weren’t any other options. This was their one chance of hope in a million and it had been ripped away just like everything else. Shaking his head, Dean cracked open the bottle and tipped it back for a swig, planning on just spending today under its soothing influence.

Um...excuse me?” The three men jumped and whipped around to see a bedraggled woman with a confused expression shuffling towards them in a bloodstained blanket. Each stood up slowly, mentally listing the ways this could be possible. She could be possessed. Dean noticed that if she took a few more steps, she’d pass through one of the demon traps inlaid in the doorframe.

“You died.” Of course Sam would begin with stating the obvious.

Clarity seemed to strike the woman's features as she glanced down at herself. “Oh. Yes. It would seem...yes. I can explain, sort of,” she offered, stepping fully into the room. Dean had instinctively grabbed for the knife he kept on his person at all times, but she had passed through the barrier. Not a demon then.

“Sort of won’t really cut it. You bled out and stopped breathing in my arms.” Dean made sure to pronounce the last few words very clearly.

“I'm...sorry. Everything is still a bit fuzzy. We're safe here right?” She seemed to take in the room and a curious expression crossed her face. "The man. The one who shot me. Is he dead?" She refocused on the men, wrapping the blanket a bit tighter around herself. The blood was still throwing Dean off.

“No. He's alive.” Dean ground his teeth and narrowed his eyes when the woman appeared to sigh and relax.

“Good.”

“You still haven’t explained how the hell you’re alive,” Dean insisted. The woman let the blanket drift open and slowly lifted the hem of her shirt to expose…nothing? Dean gaped. There were no bullet holes. No puckered, pink scars. Just a smear of blood. And there was no evidence of the wounds it had come from.

“I’d…like to explain, but…can I freshen up first?” Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. Dean was apprehensive, having a dead girl walking around their Bunker, but Sam just seemed shocked and curious.

“Uh, sure,” his younger brother offered. He showed the woman to the showers but Dean just dropped back into his chair. How the hell was this woman alive?

Glancing down at himself, Dean confirmed that he was indeed still soaked in blood. Her blood. The blood that had poured out of two bullet holes in her gut. Definitely kill shots. For some reason, Dean’s hands started shaking so he quickly chugged his last beer and closed his eyes.

“Dude, what the hell!” Sam whisper yelled. Castiel had been silent this entire time.

“I have no idea,” Dean drawled, rubbing a hand over his face and grimacing when it felt sticky. The blood was all over his hands too. Great.

“Why don’t you go get cleaned up man. This ought to be an interesting story,” Sam suggested. Dean nodded and rose wearily from the chair feeling like all of his joints were packed with tar.

Dean could hear the showers running in the bathroom from his bedroom so by the time he had changed clothes and washed off, the water was shutting off down the hall. Dean stared at himself in the mirror, hardly recognizing himself behind the new stress lines and dark circles. The man across from him was raw and untested. This was a whole new battlefield they were entering.

A memory flashed in front of him, his time in Hell, and Dean shuddered. He thought he had gotten past that, but there was really no time to process after coming back. Everything had fallen into chaos shortly after his return and he and Sammy had been running nonstop ever since. Hopefully with this new lead, with this crazy girl that apparently was brought back to life somehow, things would be different.

Dean followed the subtle noises of conversation to the kitchen where Sam was pouring mugs of coffee, Cas was hovering at the end of the counter, and the girl, in fresh flannel and denim, was perched on a stool. Sam held up the half-empty pot and Dean responded with an affirmative nod, watching carefully as Sam chose his brother’s favorite Texans mug out of the cupboard. As Dean sat on a stool, his brother passed the coffee down, pouring some for himself as well before joining the group. The woman nudged an extra stool with her foot to invite Castiel to join them, which some part of Dean’s mind appreciated, but he was still much to wary to let himself trust any part of this just yet.

 “So,” Sam began after an awkwardly long pause. “Now that you’ve got our attention, would you care to tell us what happened yesterday?” The woman nodded slowly, biting her lower lip as she clasped her hands around the mug in front of her.

“The details are still…a bit fuzzy. My memory is not super great right after…well. It comes back after a while,” she began. The boys were all silent. Waiting.

With a sigh, she continued, “In all my years, I never know where to begin this story.” Her gaze wandered around the room but Dean spotted a slight tremor in her frame. How crazy could her story be compared to his or Sam’s? With a deep breath, she finally met their eyes. “That man from the bar, Bowen.” Dean saw the light flash in her eyes when she remembered the name. “He called me the Archive. That was my code name while I was here in the Bunker and honestly, it’s probably the only name he knows me by. It became easier over the years to just refer to me as something…less than human.” The woman’s smile was bitter, almost cynical. “I was with them when they built this Bunker in 1934. That’s probably when they started developing the file you have about me.” She paused, allowing that to sink in for a moment. Dean calculated and that would mean this woman was impossibly over 80 years old. She waited until both men met her eyes again to continue.

“The Bowen family ancestors have been the keepers of the Archive for generations and it was this Wesley’s grandfather that was charged with my keeping when I…escaped.” Dean watched as the woman’s eyes glazed over with the past. As impossible as it was for her to be sitting in front of him and Sam, she was and he could read the sincerity of her words in every stutter and crease of her forehead.

“How is it that you’re alive after getting shot and dying?” Sam queried. He seemed to just take her impossible years in stride.

“That’s a bit harder to explain, but the best way I can is that I’m cursed.” The words came tumbling out of her mouth in a rush.

“Cursed, by a witch or spell?” The woman shook her head.

“No. And before you get carried away, it’s not a curse that can be cured, reversed, removed, or shifted. I doubt that it could ever even be replicated. You see, it was God who placed this burden on my shoulders.”

Castiel perked up instantly and sat forward. “When? How? You’ve seen his face?” With a serene smile that instantly lit her features, the woman turned to Cas and fixed him with a knowing gaze.

“Yes, I have. Castiel, there aren’t words,” she hummed. For someone who’d been cursed, the chick was talking about the one who’d cursed her with more admiration that anything. Shouldn’t she hate God for doing this to her?

“So, God cursed you and, what, you can’t be killed?” Dean wondered aloud. His head was starting to hurt. He liked cases to be short, sweet, and to the point. Too bad it was only morning or he’d break out the beer.

The girl winced and cleared her throat awkwardly. “There’s really no way to ease you into what I’m about to say, but there’s one thing I want you to remember before I say this. I’m human. I’m just me. Whatever else, remember me as just Riley for a little while longer,” she pleaded, tears actually brimming in her eyes. She had just told them she was cursed by God to not be killed and that she was over 80 years old. What could she possibly say that would make them think of her as less than human?

With a resigned nod, she lifted her chin and spoke in a clear, direct voice so she wouldn’t be mistaken. “My mother died giving birth to me. I was alone, stranded as a newborn, and that’s where God found me, chose me, gave me a task of witnessing his creation, all of it, so I could never pass on from this world. I was raised by my father, a good man, until he was killed by his brother.” It sounded like a normal enough traumatic backstory except for the curse. There wasn’t much Dean couldn’t wrap his head around after a few beers.

“My father’s name was - he was…” Riley pulled her hands into her lap, adopting a statuesque profile. “My father’s name was Abel.” Blood roared in Dean’s ears and a distinct humming was beginning to cloud his senses. Daughter of Abel. He had just killed Cain.

“You mean, _Abel_ Abel? As in the second son of the first humans Adam and Eve, Abel?” Sam stuttered. He had at least found his tongue before Dean. This was more of a scotch morning anyway.

“Yes. I…remember something about Cain from…it must have been Dean’s memories. I saw you kill Cain with the First Blade. In the bar where you found me, a couple of random Hunters, and you happened to be some of the most important hunters in all history.” Dean stood suddenly, stalking back and forth across the kitchen. He needed to work this out and couldn’t sit still while he was doing it.

Whatever was sitting in front of him was practically as old as the Earth itself. The freaking daughter of Cain’s brother? Come on!

“You know we killed Eve then too?” Sam mentioned and the woman bit her lip, nodding.

“She was a strong woman, but time and the darkness within had twisted her into something unrecognizable. I do not blame you at all.”

“Your name isn’t even Riley is it?” Dean snarled viciously, leaning towards her over the table, ignoring the tears clouding the woman’s eyes.

“I’ve gone by many names, but my first given name is Kara,” she whispered. It had been a long time since she had uttered the name aloud. “But Riley’s fine if it’s easier for- ”

“Fine _Riley_ , why were you working with the Men of Letters if you were just supposed to be witnessing the world?” Dean cut her off abruptly and Sam shot him an appalled glance.

“Dean,” he warned but Riley shook her head, biting her lip.

“It’s ok Sam. He’s processing.” She turned to Dean and met his gaze without flinching. “I came to the Men of Letters to offer my help. Everything about all of history is stored up here.” She touched her forehead, keeping a relaxed posture on that blasted stool that was driving Dean a little more insane. “The only trouble came when I stayed for years and they noticed odd things about me. I didn’t age the same as they did. I wasn’t normal. And then they asked me for information on a hunt that I couldn’t answer because it would have certainly gotten them all killed. That is the moment I became their prisoner. I became a resource, a thing, no longer human. But I assure you, I’m very human.” There was an edge to her voice that had Dean reaching instinctively for the gun that he had left in his room. Riley stood abruptly, grabbing a knife from the counter and clutching it in a fist. She pressed the blade to her palm and both Sam and Cas shot to their feet.

“What the – stop!” Sam shouted but didn’t catch the action in time as she dragged the sharp edge across her flesh, opening a gushing wound. With a shudder and a small cry, she dropped the weapon, but her actions had taken the desired effect: Dean had been stunned into silence.

“I can feel pain. I get hungry. I have to use the bathroom. I get sick with the flu. I have been getting my freaking period for thousands of years and I assure you, every time I die, I feel every single moment of it!” She had begun sobbing and the blood dripped onto the floor until Sam grabbed her and wadded a towel against the wound. The full reality came crashing down on Dean as a hurricane of exhaustion, not only for himself, but for her as well. She had been terrified in the car after being shot. Why would she be any less human now than she had been then? And here she was, slitting her wrists, begging him to believe and remember the last thing she told them before the world turned upside down.

Dean strode forward until the four in the kitchen were clustered in a tight group that sat on the edge of a very steep cliff with the longest drop that had ever been placed before them. Confusion clouded his mind but he locked eyes with Riley nevertheless. Tentatively, he reached up and used the pad of his thumb to wipe a tear from her cheek, staring at the salty drop as it slithered down his hand and dropped onto the floor with an insignificant splatter.

“You didn’t have to cut so deep,” Dean mumbled, noting the puddle of red on the grey tile. With a sigh and a shake of his head, the older Winchester met the gaze of the woman, Riley, once more and shrugged. “You were right. Not an easy story to tell, but the biscuits helped.” The tension began fading from the room as Castiel pulled up a stool and had Riley sit again while Sam fetched a first-aid kit.

“You can ask me any question. My more recent memory is still a bit fuzzy, but all the old stuff is still fresh. I’ll answer any questions you have,” she offered as the younger Winchester tended to her hand. She actually hadn’t cut that deep, but it was a well-placed cut that simply drew a lot of blood.

“You asked us not to burn your body. Why?” Dean began. Asking questions was all he could think to do right now. Like research. Riley grimaced.

“I asked..." Riley gasped and winced at Sam pulling at the edges of her wound.

"This'll need stitches," Sam mused and left to go get the kit, leaving Castiel holding the towel.

"I haven't gotten that memory back yet, but in general, as for not burning my body...it's a little morbid. When I say I can’t die, that’s the simple way of putting it. The reality is, I can’t pass on. I most definitely die and once the Men of Letters discovered this little fact about me, their experiments got a little extreme. They killed me lots of different ways and burning always took the longest for my body to recover from. You see, I can be hurt. Like this,” she nodded towards her hand as Sam returned to sew her up. “I’ll have this wound until it heals and I’ll probably even still have a scar. It’s not until I’m killed that my body regenerates completely and I end up looking on the younger side of 30 again.” She clamped her lips together and winced. “It’s a lot, I know. Sorry.”

“Do you know why I couldn’t heal you?” Castiel asked, glancing worriedly over Sam's shoulder at his stitchwork. Out of the three, he was taking all this the best. No wonder. They were about the same age.

“I have a theory that you couldn’t because of the more powerful anomaly written into my gene code. I was cursed by the First Language and I’m guessing you work in Enochian?” Castiel nodded and began murmuring in a funky dialect that set Dean’s teeth on edge. To his surprise, the woman answered in the same language, making Dean reflexively shake the ringing out of his ears.

“First Language…” Sam wondered aloud as he tied off the last stitch and wrapped up the hand. The woman turned back to him with a gentle smile. Cas still had a stunned look on his face and was staring straight at a wall. Great. She broke their angel.

“It’s what it sounds like. English wasn’t the first language let alone one of those formed at Babel, but not even a handful know the First Language now. It can’t even be taught except by God himself. If I was to speak it aloud…”

“Why don’t you?”

The woman bit her lip. “I’m not sure what kind of effect it would have on you if you heard it. The First Language is written into the code of the cosmos,” she stuttered, shaking her head. “But it would be sufficient proof to verify my story.” Pressing her lips into a thin line, she took hold of Castiel’s hand and turned it palm up.

“What’s going to happen?” Sam asked, watching intently.

“Castiel should be able to handle the repercussions should this get out of hand. Just in case.” She picked up an apple from the counter and cut it in half, plucking one of the seeds from the core and placing it in Castiel’s hand. “Loosely translated, I’m going to convince this seed to grow. Growing things didn’t always used to be tilling the ground and waiting a few months. It was simpler, but…” With a sigh, Riley shook her head and took Castiel’s hand in both of hers and brought it to the center of the group.

She began murmuring and though neither Sam nor Dean could pick out any specific patterns, they began to hear a light ringing in their ears. Nothing was happening at first, and then everything was happening. The seed split open and a green shoot popped out, unfurling its fragile fronds and shooting tiny white root-like tendrils.

“What the…” Sam stuttered. Everyone’s gaze was fixed on the morphing seed when Dean felt a light buzzing in the air. He wouldn’t have thought anything of it but he also noticed that sweat was beginning to form on the woman’s brow. Her murmuring grew in intensity and now, Dean had escaped the loop of being caught up in wonder. He glanced from the seed and back to Riley, and clenched his jaw when he heard Castiel’s sharp intake of breath. The roots of the growing seed were succeeding at piercing his flesh and drawing blood, but obediently, Cas remained still where the woman was holding his inured hand. Suddenly, she snatched the seed from his palm and cupped it in her hands, turning away and whispering sharply.

“What’s happening?” Dean growled, glancing at Cas to make sure he was alright before advancing on Riley.

She lowered her hands and opened them to reveal the sprout, withering and browning.

“It’s ok. It’s dead now. I’m just a bit out of practice it seems.” She blinked widely as if the process had taken as much out of her as a fistfight. “Sorry about your hand Castiel. Are you ok?”

“I heal relatively fast,” he assured her, holding up the rejuvenated palm.

“I don’t know what the First Language is supposed to sound like, but all I heard was ringing,” Sam said and the woman began nodding.

“I didn’t expect you to understand, but you heard it, that much I’m sure of.”

The three men exchanged looks and when they still looked baffled, she touched her chin and inclined her head. Dean rubbed a hand over his face and it chaffed against short stubble that had grown sometime in the last five minutes. He had just been looking at his clean shaven face in the mirror before they had eaten.

“How is this possible?” Dean asked, a bit of wonder in his voice at this revelation.

“I was telling the seed to grow. Your facial hair seemed to catch a bit of a ripple effect.”

“I think we’ve sufficient evidence for believing you now,” Sam joked and scratched at his chin. Dean couldn’t remember any time that Sammy had ever grown his beard out. No wonder he was uncomfortable. In fact, Dean would bet money that before they got down to discussing the Darkness, he would excuse himself to go shave.

“Now that we’ve had breakfast, and established that Riley is in fact who she claims to be, how about we get down to business?” Dean suggested mildly, stretching his arms behind his head and rolling his neck in anticipation of the long day ahead.

“Sure, I’m just going to clean up first and I’ll meet you all in the main hall,” Sam took off and Dean mentally gave himself a high-five.

* * *

 

“First things first, Sam, I’d appreciate if you’d let me see your side of the story.” Riley held out her uninjured hand to Sam the same way she had to Dean in the bar. Though his younger brother looked apprehensive at first, he reached across the table. Only a few seconds of tense silence passed before both parties sat back in their chairs with the swift release of pent up breath.

“What - ” Sam glanced at Dean and recognition dawned on his features before he glanced back at the confounding woman across the table. Her breathing was a little ragged as she glanced at Sam with actual tears in her eyes. They exchanged no words but Den still felt as if he was intruding on something intimate. She leaned forward and patted the younger brother’s hand with a gentle sigh.

“Right then.” Wiping her eyes and taking a deep breath, the woman stood over a US map Dean had found and brought to the table. “Can you show me where the seal of the Darkness was broken?” So she already knew what they were hunting from their memories. Dean was going to have to get used to that.

“What do you know about the Darkness?” Castiel queried. His eyes had hardly left the woman since she announced their similar ages.

“Knowledge from the Green Age chronicles is a little tougher. The Darkness was beginning to grow too bold and was claiming victims of the creation, slowly corrupting and blackening the souls of whatever it could sink its fangs into. When it took the life of my father, God stepped in and sealed it away, cursing Cain to bear the burden of the Mark for his existence in penance. And it was because he had been claimed by the Darkness that his life was prolonged.” She scanned the area surrounding the bar where Dean had ganked Death, circling it with a delicate fingertip.

“Wait, if you never died and Cain never died, did you run into each other often? I mean, you both ended up here in the states,” Sam ventured, but Riley just shook her head.

“Not often. Dark and light do not mix well.” She chuckled lightly under her breath.

“Do you know how to defeat the Darkness now?” Castiel asked.

The woman bit her lower lip, leaned back into the chair, adding a slow nod after a moment of contemplative silence. “I may know how we can figure out how to bind it again, but then there’s also probably something in my chronicles that could tell us how to defeat it once and for all.” A weight lifted from Dean’s shoulders and he felt that rare, odd sensation of hope bubbling up in his chest. Though this woman was probably the sketchiest thing they had run into to date, he felt like hugging her.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s get the lore and get started!” Dean enthused but noticed a look of apprehension that clouded Riley’s face.

“There are multiple ledgers, hidden in different locations. It’ll be a lot of travelling. We should plan a route today and gather a few spell items. I didn’t leave my records unprotected of course,” she added when the boys looked incredulous.

“Right. Why don’t you make a list of stuff we’ll need, Cas and I can start grabbing that, and you and Sam can map out our route.” Riley nodded and accepted the marker Sam was holding out, scribbled out a list of rather unique items, and handed them over.

“Is this, wait, strawberry rhubarb pie?” Dean paused and glanced over at Cas. Had he heard right? Pie was on his list?

The woman nodded without looking up from the map she was pouring over. “Yes. That’s one’s important.”

Cas took off, and with a shrug, Dean went back into their storage rooms to see if they already had any of these spell components on hand.

 


	4. Chapter 4

“There,” I sat back after having marked up the map with relative positions to where my safehouses stored the most valuable of my possessions. I hadn’t visited a few of these in a very long time. Even the Men of Letters only knew about one or two, and even then, they couldn’t go near them, wouldn’t even know how to find them, as hidden as they were.

“Six stops – most are in the Midwest – we shouldn’t be gone more than two weeks if we book it,” Sam grinned. He seemed to accept my background a bit easier than Dean. I really hadn’t meant for the seed to get out of hand but there was still a lack of trust in his eyes. Crossing my legs, I decided that was fine though. We had time.

“So,” Sam’s voice startled me out of my thoughts. “You know everything there is to know about me now.” He sounded apprehensive, like he was unsure of how to proceed.

“Knowing your past doesn’t mean I can predict your future.” With a sigh, I met his gaze and grinned. This world had done him and his brother more harm than good and still, beneath all the grit and pain, they were still good men. “I know you guys still don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you, but I’ll prove it to you eventually.” An idea occurred to me and I turned in my chair to fully face the giant of a man. I’d caught his attention.

“I could tell you a few things about me. It’s not much, but it’s a start,” I offered and Sam responded with a warm smile.

“Alright, shoot.”

“My favorite color is the blue at the bottom of a certain crystaline pool in the northern part of Minnesota; I love the sound and feel and smell of rain; my favorite modern-American era was the 1960’s; I could eat a whole field of strawberries…” I paused from my tirade and glanced at a very bemused man. “Is this too much?”

He emphatically shook his head with a light-hearted chuckle. “No! Not at all! It’s just been a while since Dean and I have had time to do anything other than hunt, or worry about the next apocalypse that we have to divert. You could really lighten this place up.” My smile widened, and then Dean was shuffling into the room, his arms laden with supplies.

“I found most of the stuff from your list in the Bunker except, how in the world are we going to get out hands on mercury? Isn’t that stuff stored in toxic waste facilities or something?” My stomach dropped.

* * *

 

When Dean had walked into the main hall, Sam and Riley were acting pretty chummy. _She’s way out of your league Sammy, and old enough to be your oldest living relative’s oldest living relative_ , is what Dean wanted to remind his brother, but he couldn’t bring himself to when he saw the unburdened grin on his brother’s face for the first time in what felt like years.

“So where the heck are we supposed to get a hold of mercury?” He watched the woman’s face immediately fall. There was no mistaking the dread in her eyes.

“There’s probably still some here in the Bunker,” she muttered. Was she shaking?

“I scoured the storeroom. I guarantee there’s none in there,” he insisted, but now he was curious as Riley stood and seemed to steel herself before walking toward the back of the main hall.

“You can follow me but, just be careful touching anything.” In the back corner of the main hall, Riley paused in front of one of the bookshelves and stared at the inscription on the brass plaque. Dean clenched his jaw when he realized that it read _The Archives_. The girl reached past the books, shoving them to the side to reveal a small panel in the back. This, she pressed until there was an audible click and thunk. Riley stepped back and pressed the frame of the bookcase which swung inward, leaving a trail in the thickly dusted tunnel that was revealed.

“What is this place?” Sam wondered aloud as they stepped inside. Riley flipped a switch that illuminated the passageway and proceeded without a response. There were several doors along this chamber, but the smell was like something rotten and Dean had the strong urge to blink repeatedly. A scuffling sound to his right drew the man’s attention to a wooden door and as he focused, Dean thought he heard a noise inside. He reached for the handle, transfixed by the notion that there could be something alive on the other side, when his wrist was suddenly caught by a wide-eyed Riley.

“Do not open that door. Don’t,” she warned, glancing warily at the door. With a greater curiosity than ever but with a decent head on his shoulders, Dean managed to turn away and follow the girl farther down the passage. Turning a corner, they came to a metal door which Riley paused in front of.

“There’s mercury in here?”

“Yes.” She reached for the handle but Sam put a hand on the door before she could pull it open.

“Riley, where are we?”

She didn’t look at him, stared straight into the solid door as she said in a flat tone, “This is where I was kept while I was with the Men of Letters. It doubled as a storeroom for a particular arsenal of supplies. We’ll find what we need in here.” Sam’s arm gave easily as she pulled the door open this time and stepped inside. The boys followed slowly, the weight of the moment failing to go unnoticed by the pair.

Dean was absolutely floored by what he saw when they passed through the door. Right away, he had to cover his nose and mouth and saw Sam do the same as their senses were overwhelmed by an acrid smell. Right in the center of the room, amidst innumerous sigils and etchings, most of which Dean didn’t even recognize, was a cage: eight-foot square, bars made of steel-coated iron that were carved with even more symbols, chains suspended from all facets until they coiled in the center, and the cage itself stationed at about five feet from every surrounding wall. Though the chains were now empty of their prisoner and a low door had been left open, the cage remained intact; withstanding the test of time and disuse.

“Dean,” Sam muttered and nodded to the woman who had become a statue once they entered. All color had drained from the woman’s face and she was visibly shaking. Her parted lips were dragging in strangled breaths but her eyes…

“Shit,” Dean cursed and hurried to stand in front of the woman. “Sam, find the stuff.” His brother warily skirted the cage and began riffling around the shelves, knocking against jars. Dean’s attention was riveted on the girl standing in front of him who was definitely going into shock. Her pupils were so dilated that there was practically no green. “Hey. Hey, look at me. Right here.” He snapped his fingers in front of her face and she refocused.

“Dean…” she breathed, a hitch in her voice. “I haven’t been back here since…I thought I could handle it. I…”

“Come on, focus,” Dean encouraged. “Sam, you find it?”

“It’s not here Dean!”

“Third drawer from the right. The one that’s at an odd angle so it squeaks. The brown jar in the back with the black rubber stopper,” she muttered, her eyes glazing for a moment.

“Third drawer from the right. You’re looking for a brown bottle with a black cork.” Dean relayed the message and heard the rough creaking of the old drawer being yanked open.

“Got it!” “Let’s get out of here.” Gently placing his hands on Riley’s shoulders, he began urging her to step backwards and though it was half stumbling, she made it out and Sam closed the door behind them. It wasn’t until they had the girl sitting at the table back in the main hall with a half-drunk glass of Lagavulin in her trembling hand that color began returning to her face.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think–”

“Don’t even. We read the file. If half of that is even true, your reaction was completely warranted,” Sam encouraged, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. Dean was nursing his own glass of whiskey even though it was only 1’oclock in the afternoon. No one should have to drink alone. Before she had even finished her glass, the girl’s cheeks were rosy and what conversation she managed was surprisingly slurred and disjointed.

“I don’ even know why they even kept me in there for so…long.” Riley rubbed her head and put her glass on the table, finally pushing it away with distaste. Dean pulled it away and added it to his own, setting hers on the sideboard, out of reach.

“Dean, I think she might be drunk,” Sam worried and his brother nodded, an amused grin on his face.

“I’m thinking…” Both men turned to the girl who was rising unsteadily to her feet. “I might need to lie down. New liver and all from the regen…can’t even handle a double whiskey.” She scoffed and stumbled towards the next table, catching herself on its edge. The brothers were on their feet but unsure of when or how to intervene before she hurt herself, so they watched incredulously as she sighed and sank down to sit on the floor, her eyelids fluttering closed.

“Woah there. Why don’t I give you a hand,” Sam offered, approaching the inebriated woman as she laid down, pressing her cheek to the floor.

“So comfy…” And she was out like a light. Sam turned to his brother who was shaking his head and downing the last bit of both their whiskeys.

“What…what should we do with her?” Sam knelt by her head and checked for signs of life. She went down pretty fast.

“I got this Sammy. I’ve had many a strong whiskey hangover in my time.” The eldest brother corked the whiskey and bent to scoop the woman into his arms. She gave little moans of protest but otherwise remained asleep as he carried her back to his room. Without Sam watching him, Dean began carrying himself a bit gentler, treading carefully so as to not jostle the fragile woman in his arms. Using a foot to nudge open the door, he carried her in and, cradling the woman’s fragile form with one arm and his knee, he pulled the blankets down and settled her under them, sliding her boots off and pulling the sheets up to her chin. After retrieving a glass of water and a couple Asprin which he set on the night table, he flipped off the lamp.

As he turned to leave, he heard a quiet, “Thank you Dean,” before he softly closed the door. Sam was bent over the map when he returned.

“Couple hours of sleep and she’ll be good,” Dean determined as he began stowing the spell ingredients they would apparently need to gain access to these ledgers.

“Working at a bar you’d think she’d be able to handle a bit of whiskey,” Sam joked. Both men jumped at the gust of wind that signaled Castiel’s return. His arms were laden with several jars and boxes and one bag that caused Dean’s mouth to water.

“Some of these were not easy to find. Dragon’s tears? The heart of a white rabbit in a graveyard on the eve of a full moon on a Friday the 13th?” Dean’s eyebrows shot up and tore his gaze away from the Mama Anne’s Bakery sack. Castiel did look a little tired, like he had made a time jump.

“But you found everything?” Sam queried as he began riffling through everything that Cas set on the table. The angel nodded and scanned the room, a frown beginning to form on his face. “Where is the woman?”

“Asleep. She had a little too much to drink,” Dean explained.

“She knows more than she lets on. There’s a hidden tunnel behind the bookcase back there,” Sam nodded towards the gap in the wall and Cas started towards it curiously.

“What’s back there?”

“It’s the cell where the Men of Letters kept the woman while she was here.” Cas paused and really looked at the two men who were standing behind him. Dean imagined what the angel saw: Sam with his dewy eyes and sympathetic expression, and himself with a relatively haggard expression.

“I’d like to see it.” Sam nodded and exchanged a look with Dean as they led the way back to the chamber. It was just as rancid as the last time, but now that he could focus, Dean realized that the shelves all around the room were covered with various tools and mechanisms, some of which he didn’t recognize, but instinctively knew what they had been used for.

“There’s a supply of holy oil in here,” Cas wondered aloud, pinpointing a stone jar that was still brimming.

“When the Men of Letters recorded that nothing could kill her, it seems like they weren’t exaggerating. They must have tried everything.” Dean shuddered. How could the old order have performed such inhumane experiments on another living person? None of them wanted to stay in that room very long so after just a short period of taking account of the contents of the room, they left and sealed it. Dean, in the lead, was the first to come to the strange wooden door that he had nearly opened before, and now, it was calling to him again.

“Dean, what are you doing?” Sam caught his wrist as he reached for the handle.

“Sam, what could honestly be behind here that we couldn’t handle? It’s been sealed for decades!” His brother looked nervous but Dean glanced at Cas and saw the same curiosity of the unknown mirrored in his eyes.

“Right,” Dean mumbled and slowly turned the handle. Nothing could have prepared them for what was on the other side of that door. The fluorescents in this room were barely flickering with a sickly red light and as stale air poured from the room, each of the guys gagged and covered their faces.

“It smells like a tomb!” Sam coughed, blinking the stinging tears from his eyes. Dean’s hand was frozen on the handle and he hadn’t stepped into the room.

“Dean?” Cas attempted to peer over his shoulder but Dean reacted surprisingly fast as he slammed the door closed and turned his back on it.

“Out. Get out of here,” he choked and made a beeline for the main hall. Once they were all out of the tunnels, Dean pulled the bookcase closed and wordlessly went straight for the whiskey.

“Dean, what was in there?” Sam asked, at a loss as to why his brother was defaulting back to his alcohol vice.

“Sam, Cas, both of you, give me your word that you will not open that door.”

“Dean…” Cas tried to step in and argue but Dean held up a hand as he threw back the entire glass of Lagavulin.

“Give me – your word that you won’t open that door and you won’t mention this to Riley,” Dean stammered, collapsing into a chair.

“Alright, but one condition.” Dean glared at his brother as he approached and slid the glass from Dean’s hand.

“Good to you Sammy. Good to you…” The eldest Winchester buried his face in his hands nonetheless so the others left him alone for a while.

Shaking his head, Dean forced himself to breathe deeply and did his best to keep the tremor from his shoulders. How could he explain to his brothers that the red room was ten times worse than the cage room? How could he explain that it was practically a butcher shop? Recognizable pieces of human flesh dangled from the ceiling on meat hooks and organs of every variety sat in bloody jars on every visible surface. Even the memory made him gag, and he had been to Hell for crying out loud! He shot to his feet in frustration and began pacing the room, clenching a fistful of hair in his hand. He stalked back into the hall that led to his bedroom and paused just before the door. Placing his hands on the doorframe, he leaned his forehead against the wood and closed his eyes.

He had to face this woman eventually, but he couldn’t tell her the truth, but she had been through so much could he really keep her in the dark?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against the door. This woman had gone through hell at the hands of his ancestors but she had had the courage to return to that place to help them defeat the Darkness. Even imagining returning to Hell where he had been trapped for a mere forty years made him sick.

* * *

 

In my dreams, I was chained once more in that dark room, blood caked on my raw wrists and dripping from my lips. The figures swarming around the room in fast-forward were blurred and haunting. I felt the pierce of the injections, the flesh being torn from my body, and the burn of the acid that was dumped down my throat to melt me from the inside out. After an eternal night, I woke suddenly and shot up in an unfamiliar bed with the last, strangled cry I had uttered as they drilled yet another pin into my skull.

“Stop!” I yelped, catching my breath as I pressed my hands to my head. A few tears spilled from my eyes in the darkened room as I let the dream slip away into the recesses of my mind, whimpering as I curled my knees into my chest. It had been a while since those nightmares had plagued me. I heard the resounding thuds of two approaching footsteps and unconsciously trembled. Three knocks reverberated through my skull and I groaned. Starting over with a fresh liver wasn’t going to be pleasant for a while.

“Riley? You ok?” Sam.

“Riley!” Dean.

Sam and Dean Winchester were standing outside my door.

It was the year 2016.

Clearing my throat and responding with a thick tongue, “I’m fine. Just…nothing.” There was a moment of silence on the other side of the door.

“I left you some aspirin on the table.” The intensity in Dean’s voice had gone down a bit and I quickly located the aforementioned hangover cure and let the tepid water soothe my churning stomach.

Tossing off the blankets, I set my bare feet on the frigid concrete and sighed. Cold shower. I needed a cold shower. As I cracked open the door, I jumped, my heart catching in my throat. Sam and Dean were still just outside the door and I realized that subconsciously, I hadn’t heard them leave. Blinking through the headache caused by the blinding fluorescents, I grinned up at them. Neither was wearing what they were when I passed out, but my mind was working just a bit too slow to properly register and analyze the fact that they were both wearing sweats and t-shirts and looked thoroughly ruffled.

“Thanks. How long was I out?” Sam eyed me warily.

Dean was a bit more subtle. “It’s 3’oclock in the morning,” he dragged a hand over his face and blinked widely.

“Sorry for waking you,” I winced as thick blood began rushing back into my extremities. “I’ll be fine if you need to get some more rest. I’m just going to shower up and try not to let anything from my stomach make an unscheduled reappearance.” Shuffling back towards the showers, I combed a hand through my tangled hair and took a deep cleansing breath. I switched the water on automatically, following my instincts to manipulate the proper temperature from the finicky appliance. As the frigid water ran in rivulets down my back, rinsing away the sticky sweat that had caused the linen sheets to cling to me, I closed my eyes and just forgot. Mind you, this wasn’t an easy task as I had been originally commissioned by the Creator of the universe to “Remember”, but I had my own version of coping. A flash of the nightmare caused my stomach to roil and my entire being to tremble, but I bit my tongue and put a hand on the cold, tile wall to stabilize myself.

Finally blinking my eyes open to let the water run in and make them sting just a bit to remind myself of _this_ reality, I ran my fingers through my hair a few times and switched the water off.

“Riley,” one of the boys called in, only startling me slightly. “I’m setting a towel and some clothes for tonight just inside the door. We don’t really have anything your size, so I hope this’ll work.”

“I’m sure it’s fine. G’night Sam,” I called back, trying mid-sentence to clear the hoarse rattle from my voice.

“Let us know if you need anything else. Dean and I are right down the hall.” I listened for his retreating footsteps before climbing out of the shower to find the pile of linens. After toweling off, I grinned as I pawed through the assorted garments I had been left. I had to roll up and tie off the flannel pajama pants, and the gray t-shirt was more like a dress than anything. I would have to find my bag in the morning, but this would do for now. I tiptoed back to the room and made a conscious choice to curl up on the opposite side of the bed from before. My nausea had all but passed and the water definitely helped cutting off the headache I would feel later, but as I lay there trying in vain to fall asleep, I caught the gentle fluttering of a pair of wings on the other side of the room.

“Castiel, I know you’re there,” I muttered with a sigh. He slipped from the ethereal plane and perched stoically at the end of the bed. “Did they ask you to check on me?”

“They did. I was also worried. You’ve been through an ordeal.” His tone carried both a question and a knowing statement simultaneously. They must have shown him the Archive chambers.

“I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important, and understand that this is only a one-time incident, but…Castiel, would you be able to walk in my dreams tonight?” I peeked at him over my shoulder and saw the angel looked a bit troubled. “I know how intrusive it can be, and how vulnerable your host would become but…”

“You are human, and I am more than able and willing to fulfill my role as guardian tonight.” While I found great relief in his answer, my body also reacted with apprehension and I had to consciously relax my limbs. “You have nothing to fear,” Cas offered softly as he circled the bed and sat next to me, placing a gentle hand on my forehead.

“Thank you Castiel.” The next thing I was aware of was a knock on the bedroom door.

* * *

 

There hadn’t been any other incidents through the night, but Dean had still hardly slept he was listening so intently. Cas had shown up shortly after the first incident and Dean asked him to keep an eye on her just in case. Sam had come up with the ridiculous idea of giving her something else to sleep in, she would look almost clownish in his clothes so Dean offered some of his own before retreating to the spare room he had taken while the girl slept in his. He heard the shower stop and the soft padding of feet down the hall, and then nothing until 5AM when he couldn’t stand lying still anymore so he got up to make some coffee.

“Dean? What are you doing up so early?” Sam galumphed into a chair at the table, sweat dripping from his face as he drained his water bottle.

“Couldn’t sleep. You?” His younger brother shook his head and shrugged.

“Nah. Went for a run instead.” They were both silent for a while, unconsciously listening for movement. “She up yet?” Sam asked quietly.

Dean shrugged. “Haven’t heard anything. Cas hasn’t checked in either so we’re either good or really bad is my guess.”

Sam made a thoughtful humph before indicating he was going to shower leaving Dean to nurse his cup of very black coffee and the slight hangover he was doing pretty well at hiding. Over the years, he had learned that the pain of the headaches actually gave him clarity of thought. He nearly scoffed at the irony.

Surprisingly, the sleepless night had done nothing to calm his anxieties over the Bunker’s newest resident. No matter how many times Dean played the last few days over in his head, everything remained in a fog of his understandable disbelief. He chuckled a bit darkly before pinching the bridge of his nose between a finger and thumb, pressing hard for a moment before blinking his eyes wide and taking a deep breath. Today, they would get some answers, hopefully.

“Cas.” Dean spoke the angel’s name aloud once, and that was usually enough. It surprised him that the trench coat took a while to actually appear.

“Yes Dean?” He stood curiously at the other end of the counter, finally seeming to understand some of the boundaries of personal space Dean had had to teach him.

“The woman? Is she…”

“She was able to sleep soundly for a bit longer. She’s coming out of her REM cycle shortly which would be the opportune time to wake her. Shall I?”

Dean poured a new cup of coffee and was already on his way to the hall. “I got it buddy.” He took a deep breath as he reached the door and after a moment’s contemplation, he decided to knock softly.

“Come in.” The voice inside sounded groggy but not startled so Dean turned the knob and poked his head inside. The woman was sitting up, rubbing her eyes and blinking at the light that came streaming in through the hall. “Yikes,” she winced, shading her eyes as Dean entered. “I almost forgot about this pleasant little part of the hangover.”

“This should help,” Dean offered, holding out the mug of coffee which she took with a smile. He awkwardly shifted on his feet before deciding to settle at the very edge of the end of the bed.

The woman hummed as the black coffee did its work and nodded her head appreciatively. “For a couple of bachelors living in an underground bunker, you really know how to make a good cup of jo.”

“You learn little things here and there in traveling as much as we do. An essential is how to brew that motel coffee so it’s palatable.” The woman grinned knowingly which almost caused Dean to do the same. It was far too easy to just relax around her. “Um,” Dean stood and turned to the door.

“Thanks for the borrowed shirt by the way.” Dean paused and turned to find Riley tossing aside the sheets and climbing out of bed, wearing his shirt and very rolled up pants. He never let any of his one night stands wear his clothes as it personalized them, which was what happened instantly here.

Dean blushed furiously and turned on a heel, brusquely offering a “You’re welcome” as he left. He almost plowed right into Sam who was wearing only a towel, dripping from head to toe.

“Woah!” his little brother exclaimed as Dean put up his hands and retreated to the garage. He didn’t look back; he didn’t want to see the woman’s startled or confused face. He just needed to sit in Baby for a while and cool off. Dean chastised himself for letting this woman get under his skin so easily.

* * *

 

Sam was standing right outside in the hallway as Dean stormed out and we exchanged a confused look, the coffee mug still warm in my hands. “Morning,” I offered and Sam grinned lop-sidedly at me.

“Sleep alright?” I nodded, wondering at Sam’s scrutiny and noticed a look of comprehension suddenly cross the giant’s features as he stared after his brother. It could have been my imagination that the younger Winchester bit his cheek to keep his mischievous grin from growing too large as he leaned on the doorframe.

“You know, I think we left your bag in the back of the Impala. I could point you to the garage if you’d like to get dressed?”

“I think I remember the way.” I strode right up to him, trying to appear undaunted as he was a whole head and shoulders taller than me. I probably could have head-butted him in the sternum. Nonetheless, I handed over my unfinished cup of coffee and slipped underneath his arm. “You should probably get dressed too. We’ve got a long way to go today,” I called over my shoulder and pretended not to hear the light chuckle behind me.

I _did_ remember where the garage was, and after turning a corner, wound up in the vast chamber that led outside. With a shudder as a memory of my escape resurfaced, I remembered crawling through the tight maintenance shafts to get free. The Men of Letters had tried to flush me out by turning off the cooling system, but despite some nasty burns on my arms and legs, I made it out alive. Choosing to remember the positivity of my escape rather than the horror, I smiled and closed my eyes, reabsorbing the memory and tucking it safely away. No doubt that was going to happen several more times along our journey as I explored some of my older bunkers, but the Winchester brothers were trustworthy. I wouldn’t have to worry about them chaining me up.

A car door slamming interrupted my reverie and I spotted Dean over by the black ’67 Chevy Impala he had often referred to in his memories as Baby. The 60s had been a good few years overall for automotive vehicles, but John Winchester had definitely found one of the cream of the crop.

“Riley? What are you doing out here?” Dean’s tone was rather sharp and I glared at him for a moment, increasing the tension before telling him that I had come looking for my bag. In a huff, he opened the back door and grabbed the rucksack, and only then did he find pause. It was still bathed in the blood that had poured from my gunshot wounds, my fatal gunshot wounds. The look on Dean’s face changed to one of confusion and distress in an instant.

I quietly walked over and gently placed my hand on his forearm, taking the bag from his grip and setting it on the ground.

“Dean, it’s ok.” He seemed to shake himself from the trance and grabbed my arm tight, as if to make sure I was there. “It’s ok.” I held still while he worked through it. He needed to, especially considering the road ahead of us that he was completely unaware of. His grip tightened and slackened depending on where he was in working through the argument in his head which only lasted around 30 seconds.

“You ok?” I finally asked when he released my arm and pulled gently from my grasp.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it? It might help,” I offered and the man paused from leaning into the backseat of his car which needed to be cleaned of my blood before it set and stained and we hit the road.

“How many times have you died?” The man remained statuesque as I leaned back against the car, mentally ticking off the years as I knew using estimates and brushing off his questions at this point would push him further into the dark.

“Over 1000 times while I was a prisoner here in the Bunker. As for life before that, I count somewhere in the 300s. The oldest I have ever been before death was 1,513.” Dean shot me a look so I answered his unspoken question. “I don’t age the same as modern humans. I am much more similar to my first blood relatives. Given, I did have a few more wrinkles than I’d care to admit by the time I keeled over that time.” My joke earned a smile from the eldest Winchester. With a sigh, I turned to face him and he moved likewise.

“Dean, it’s going to be hard to accept, but I’m still human, even after all I’ve been through, and so are you.” This caught him off-guard. “I know you feel vulnerable with me, that you want to trust me too easily, but I think you’re simply seeing the similarities between us. I’m not a monster and neither are you. After everything we’ve been through, we’re still human.” Dean’s jaw was practically on the concrete floor of the garage. I reached towards him to offer comfort, but paused, rethinking my action before retreating to scoop up my bag and smiling.

“I’m going to change and give you some time, ok? I’ll make us some breakfast for the road as well. We have a long ways to go.”

* * *

 

How could she know exactly what Dean needed to hear? This woman was uncanny. And as Dean leaned back, clinging to Baby’s frame to keep from collapsing completely, his free hand clenched at his sternum as he abruptly found it hard to breathe. The weight that had lifted from his shoulders the moment Riley had said he was not a monster, that he was human, was the most relieving thing he had felt in decades. Dean laughed aloud and patted himself on the face a few times to ensure that he was indeed awake before standing tall and with a new sense of freedom pulling his shoulders back and filling his lungs. Glancing back at the drying blood on the backseat of the Impala, he saw it now as not a pool of scarlet regret, but a crimson stain of hope. Bleach, soapy water, and some rags made quick work of the physical stain but it was imprinted solidly on Dean’s mind as he shut up the car, checked the engine levels, and propped the trunk to prepare for the trip. The Darkness stood no chance against him in this state.

Dean walked into the kitchen to find Sam and Cas crowded around Riley at the counter where she was putting together some kind of wraps and sandwiches and storing them in a cooler. She had found some of her clothes that hadn’t been touched by the blood soaking through her bag, and he had no doubt she had probably already put his pajamas in the laundry.

“Were you able to get the stain out of the backseat? If you need help, I have a recipe for a homemade, works-every-time bloodstain remover detergent up here.” Riley tapped her forehead with her finger and grinned. Dean stepped around the counter without a word and pecked her soundly on the cheek.

“Dean? What?” She turned, a bit startled but otherwise unfazed. Completely the opposite of his shocked speechless brother.

“Thank you,” he winked as he headed back for the door and she smiled back at him. “Might wanna pack up Sammy. We’re leaving as soon as those sandwiches are done.”

“What happened in the garage?” Dean heard Sam inquire as he strode down the hall.

The older Winchester was packing the car when Riley, Sam, and Cas entered the garage, Sam smiling much too widely as he handed his bags over, but Dean just rolled his eyes and tossed the duffel in the trunk, slamming the lid and circling the car.

“Everybody in?” Dean called over his shoulder as he slid into the driver’s seat.

“When you’re ready!” Riley replied, slipping into the back with Castiel and playfully fighting him for a seat belt buckle.

“Settle down back there,” Dean griped as he shifted the car into gear and began pulling out of the garage. There was less noise from the backseat, but when Dean checked the mirror, he could still see the pair shoving at each other. When he glanced at Sam in the passenger seat, his brother was looking at the pair and just smiling so Dean shook his head and simply pulled out onto the road. They hadn’t even been on the road for half an hour when Dean checked the mirror again to find Riley snuggled up against Cas and passed out, making him shake his head.

“What do you think we’re going to find out there?” Sam whispered, having noticed the dozing girl as well. Dean shrugged, sliding the worn leather wheel through his hands. “You remember how intense some of the Men of Letters seals were on their more dangerous materials? There are some pretty volatile ingredients that she had us collect.”

“It’ll be alright Sammy,” Dean murmured, missing the subtle smile that passed across Riley’s face.


End file.
